Miriamele had not seen the escritor for many years, although she had followed his rise through the church from a distance. He had aged much as she had imagined he would—handsomely, his bold nose and strong chin, and bushy eyebrows, along with his height, giving him more the look of a warrior-king than a mere churchman. She had to admit he cut an impressive figure in his heavy golden robes.
She saw no need to explain, not yet, but only held out her hand so that he could kiss it. She was pleased that Simon remembered to do the same—it was important to remind the escritor that he stood before the High Throne of all Osten Ard, not just that of some ordinary ruler. When Auxis had been seated and the rest of the preliminaries finished, she squeezed Simon’s hand to let him know she was going to speak.
“We know why you are here, Your Eminence,” she said, “and we hope we will be able to find a way to help our beloved Sacred Father, the lector.”
“And His Sacredness is grateful to you for making time for his humble servant and messenger.”
Miriamele almost looked around in comic confusion, because nobody would ever mistake Escritor Auxis for a servant, especially not the humble sort, but she restrained herself. It was just the sort of thing she had scolded Simon for in the past. What was it about Auxis that brought out these childish resentments in her? “We all have the same interests, Your Eminence—” she said, “— you, His Sacredness, my husband, myself. We all want peace for our people.”
After that conventional opening, Auxis clearly felt he had a grip on the situation again. He nodded and began a disquisition on the current state of affairs in Nabban, one that although it stuck more or less to the truth, played down the sins of House Ingadaris and played up the efforts of the Sancellan Aedonitis to find a solution. The fact that His Sacredness owed his position largely to his connection with Count Dallo, one of the main authors of the problems, was not a part of the escritor’s summation—not that Miriamele had expected it would be.
Descriptions and counter-descriptions of the exact problems went on for the best part of an hour, couched in courteous language as befitted a meeting between Mother Church and the High Throne, but Miriamele could see that Escritor Auxis was already frustrated. He had expected an agreement to the lector’s request for the king and queen to attend the wedding of Drusis and Turia Ingadaris as a matter of form only, and was dismayed by the idea he might actually have to bargain for it.
“I beg both Your Majesties’ pardon,” he said at last, “but we have talked half the day and I fear I do not understand whether or not you will answer His Sacredness regarding the counsel he has given you.”
“If by ‘counsel’ you mean the Sacred Father’s request that the High Throne give its blessing by attending the wedding, the answer is yes.” She smiled. The escritor, relieved, smiled back. He was indeed a fine-looking man when he was in a good mood, Miriamele noted. She wondered if that would still be true when his mood changed. “It is most likely that the High Throne will be present at the wedding and will work with the feuding parties in Nabban to make peace.”
“I am very pleased to hear that, Majesties,” Auxis said, spreading his arms as if in benediction. “And I can assure you that our Sacred Father, Lector Vidian, will be pleased, too.”
“Excellent.” Miriamele squeezed Simon’s hand beneath the table to let him know the time had come. He made a little snorting noise.
“You always think I’ll say something to spoil things,” he whispered.
“Shush, husband,” she said, “the fish is almost in the net.” She raised her voice. “And the High Throne will formally agree to the invitation as soon as His Sacredness grants us a few small kindnesses in turn that would please us very greatly.”
The ordinary background of murmured asides and the skritch-skratch of pens on parchment suddenly ceased.
“Are you proposing that His Sacredness should... strike a deal?” said Auxis, making it sound like the sort of thing usually done in dark alleyways. All eyes now went from his pale, strained features to the queen.
“Surely not,” Miriamele said. “The Blessed Patriarch has kindly offered us advice—his counsel, as you so neatly put it—to which we are giving very careful thought. And since we have this splendid opportunity, due to his so generously sending a high official of the church like yourself, we have some counsel we would like to tender in turn.” Beside her, Simon did his best to stifle a laugh, but was not entirely successful. She squeezed his hand again, slightly harder this time.
“I know, I know,” he said so that only she could hear.
It was all Auxis could do not to glare. He leaned and whispered something to his clerks, and when he turned back to the table, his expression had been wiped clean of all emotions except patient interest. “I would be very happy to hear what counsel the High King and Queen would offer to His Sacredness.”
Miriamele’s smile was a little tighter this time. “Very well. The High Queen and the High King suggest that we are overdue another escritor from the north. The last three have been from Nabban or Perdruin or the islands. Surely His Sacredness would not wish his northern flock to think we are forgotten by the Sancellan Aedonitis.”
“Ah,” said Auxis. “I see. And would you have a suggestion for the Blessed Father?”
“How about Archbishop Gervis?” proposed Simon, a little too abruptly for Miriamele’s taste.
She closed her eyes and said a little prayer, then put on a pacific smile. “Yes, how about Gervis? The lector could raise no one to the synod we favor more. He is a man of high learning and high ideals.”
Archbishop Gervis, caught by surprise, stared open-mouthed from his seat as at a holy miracle.
Auxis lifted an eyebrow in a finely calibrated gesture of bemusement. “Well, of course, the archbishop is held in great esteem by His Sacredness . . .”
“Good,” said Simon. “That’s settled, then.” Securing an escritor’s golden robe for Gervis had been the part that her loyal husband had most favored.
Auxis was clearly realizing that if his master only had to raise one northern archbishop to the Escritorial Synod, it was not much to give up. Some of the tension went out of his posture, and he even smiled and nodded at Gervis, who still looked flustered.
But all this means, Miriamele thought, is that things must be worse in Nabban than we realized. Vidian would never let anyone dictate to him, not even us, if he did not need our help badly. That gave her a bit of a chill, but she had set her course and could not slacken now.
“So,” said Auxis, in the tone of someone about to make a summary speech, “if we have heard and satisfied the desires of our revered High Monarchs . . .”
“There is yet a bit more counsel from us, Your Eminence.”
The escritor turned to her, and this time his eyes were wary. “Of course, Majesty. Forgive me for anticipating.”
“As far as the visit itself,” she said, “if a peace between two antagonistic parties is to be brokered, the lector himself must be part of the process. And that means he must show his support by a public embrace of both parties and an equally public promise to show no favoritism between the noble houses of Nabban in any matter in which the Church has discretion.” Nabbanai lectors had a centuries-old history of partisanship in holy office, which had made the lectorship a prize worth uncountable riches. “The High Ward, of course, will stand behind—and enforce—the Sacred Father’s promise.”
The corner of the escritor’s lip twitched. He had almost smiled. “Ah. A noble idea, Majesties. I cannot say for certain, of course, but I think His Sacredness might give his assent to such a suggestion.” Which meant that Auxis believed business could continue as usual in Nabban, despite the High Ward inserting itself into the process.
We’ll see about that, Miriamele thought. Aloud, she said, “And that agreement would be printed in a public document, posted and read out in the churches for all in Nabban to read and understand.”
This annoyed the escritor, but he was growing better at hiding his irritation. “Of course, of course, Your Majesty. I can see no impediment. Now, I hope we can begin to plan for Your Majesties’ visit.”
“Excellent,” she said. “We will be happy to plan the High Throne’s presence at the wedding—and the other matters in Nabban, of course—as soon as we have evidence that the Blessed Father has agreed to implement our royal counsel.”
This struck Auxis like a thunderbolt. For the first and only time, he stumbled over his words. Again, the room had gone silent. “But, Majesties! I . . .” He forced himself toward composure. “Your Majesties, surely I misunderstand you. It is a fortnight’s voyage to Nabban, even by fast ship. The wedding is only a bit more than a month away. How can I possibly provide you with lector’s agreement in time for you to make the journey?”