Jean-Claude shared a glance with Isabelle and they deflected their course to trail the clerics. Temple influence was much stronger in Aragoth than in l’Empire Céleste, and it would be useful to hear what the local clergy were thinking.
The second sagax said, “I don’t know about that. Artifex Kantelvar says—”
“Kantelvar is mad,” snapped the third. “Ever since his Exaltation. All that spewing of signs and portents.”
“He used to be more concerned with his rents and debtors. Now it’s all ‘The Time of Reckoning is at hand, the Savior is coming.’”
“Peace abide, brother,” said the first. “When the new Omnifex is elected, he will put a stop to Kantelvar’s schemes.”
The third said, “Even if Julio is king?”
“Even kings must bow their necks to the Builder’s law,” said the deep thinker. “A crippled king, a soul-blighted queen, and the chance of an abomination child will put the people on our side.” Then, perhaps fearing to be overheard, he looked around and espied Jean-Claude and Isabelle. The conversation died.
Jean-Claude casually veered off toward the horses.
“That was … disturbing,” Isabelle said.
“Something to question Kantelvar about, to be sure,” Jean-Claude said. Isabelle had never been popular with the clergy, but the Temple artificers in Windfall had been content in the knowledge that her putative impurity was no threat to the Builder’s design. Not so, here. She must have seemed a nightmare come to life for the devout.
“Do you think that’s true?” Isabelle asked. “That he thinks the Reckoning is at hand, the Savior is arising, and the world is about to be remade?”
“He’s never mentioned it in my hearing,” Jean-Claude said. “I don’t know enough about him to know what he believes. It’s one of the things I intend to find out. I know some people in San Augustus”—he considered the scope of the sprawling city—“assuming I can find them. I’ll make more friends from there.”
“Do we have that much time?” Sergeant Isabelle asked. “They’re pushing this marriage as fast as protocol allows.”
“Do we have any choice?”
They acquired horses and mounted. Fortunately, Isabelle didn’t need any help. Once young Isabelle had made it plain that she was going to ride horses, he’d arranged for her to learn it properly.
They formed up with the cavalcade. Jean-Claude’s attention was drawn to the princess’s heavily armored coach. Vincent was just helping Valérie into the coach when he paused and gripped her hand. Her right hand. He stepped back and looked around, a thunderous expression on his face.
“Damn, he’s twigged to it,” Jean-Claude said, but how much of a scene was the man willing to make?
Valérie tugged on his arm, and there was an angry whispered conversation before he reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged on board.
Jean-Claude let out a breath of relief. “I can’t believe he didn’t throw a fit.”
“I can,” Isabelle said. At Jean-Claude’s inquisitive look she said, “He’s been up Valérie’s skirts six nights out of the last seven.”
Jean-Claude snorted. “Damn, I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“Logistically, I believe he had it in her.” Isabelle flushed at her own joke; she could never have made such a ribald comment to anyone else.
Jean-Claude nearly guffawed himself out of the saddle, and it took him a moment to restore what passed for a serious mien. “But do you trust him with your handmaid?”
Isabelle shot him a reproachful glance. “I trust her to make her own choices.”
Jean-Claude conceded the point by changing the subject. “He’s going to be in a foul humor when we get to the palace.”
“Wouldn’t you be,” Isabelle said, “if I suddenly disappeared and all your elaborate preparations went to waste?”
“These preparations have not gone to waste; I could not have designed a better distraction if I’d had a month,” Jean-Claude said. The thought of losing Isabelle, on the other hand, was too dreadful to contemplate. “Remember, your duty is to see to it that, no matter what else happens, the princess reaches the palace in one piece.”
Her face stiffened slightly at his sober tone. “I will.”
“The proper address is ‘Yes, sir,’ soldier.”
“Yes, sir,” she repeated enthusiastically, snapping off a wrong-handed salute.
The procession was suitably impressive, led by outriders, a troupe of musicians who announced their progress with a marching song. A color guard with the flags of Aragoth, l’Empire Céleste, and the house des Zephyrs came next, followed by a squad of royal cuirassiers, then a platoon of pikemen followed by the royal coach. The dignitaries and their escorts, including Jean-Claude and Isabelle, rode next. Behind them came the handmaids’ carriage and yet more guards bringing up the rear.
Outside the porte cochere awaited a mob of city folk, a throng of brightly dressed people hoping for a glimpse of their new princesa. Some waved ribbons and cheered. Others brandished icons of the Builder’s gearwheel eye and shouted unwelcome. Jean-Claude kept a wary watch on these. Just how much effort would it take some clever assassin to work a group of believers into a killing frenzy, murder by mob?
Jean-Claude wished they could have dispensed with the street theater entirely, but it was important for the new princesa to be witnessed by the people of Aragoth. An enthusiastic populace could be a powerful impediment to courtly intrigues. Whoever plotted against a popular princesa became a villain in the eyes of the people, and wise nobles never forgot that the people were the foundation on which their towers rested. They did not want that soil shifting.
The cavalcade trotted along the city’s main road, a serpentine path that meandered up the many-terraced slope to the citadel. Peasants and freemen filled the streets, parting only when the cuirassiers drew nigh upon them. Most of the buildings along this road were of dressed stone from the foundations to the first-floor windows and of pale stucco from there on up, often to a height of four stories. Despite the width of the street, Jean-Claude had to crane his neck to scan the rooftops, but he was pleased to see the silhouettes of royal crossbowmen standing watch at regular intervals, just as Kantelvar had promised. Muskets were a more fashionable weapon and better in a battle of massed ranks, but they were far too inaccurate for counter-sharpshooter work.