He turned to see Princess Idela and two of her ladies moving toward them along the gallery, having likely just come from the chapel. Pasevalles felt a stab of irritation. Prince John Josua’s widow was a comely young woman who had made plain her desire for his attention, although he suspected that was mostly a matter of court politics. It flattered his vanity, but it definitely made his life more difficult.
“Your Highness, Ladies,” he said, bowing. “You honor me.”
“Oh, good day, Countess,” said Idela with a smile for Rhona. “I trust Lillia hasn’t given you too much trouble today. Where is she?”
Only Pasevalles noticed the small hitch before the countess answered. “She is lying down, Princess. She tired herself out this morning trying to convince her pony to wear a hat.”
“Oh, the little dear.” The princess who would never be queen turned back to Pasevalles. “I have something most important to discuss with you, Lord Steward—and yet it seems you are avoiding me. Am I so frightful, that you flee me like an ogre out of a nursery tale?”
Rhona took that as a hint that she should find other things to do. She gave Pasevalles a look of commiseration as she took her leave.
He hid his annoyance beyond a smile. This day of all days! “Never, Princess. But less pleasant duties have been playing the tune all day, and I have been forced to dance to their measure.”
“And what could be of such importance, Lord Chancellor?” There was no question where little Lillia had learned to pout when denied anything, but Pasevalles did not want to explain about the Sitha woman. Idela would insist on being involved, and Pasevalles wanted to keep control of the situation. He would tell her later.
“Nothing of great weight, Highness.” He took a breath, doing his best to push his worries from his mind. He had set everything in place, and for the moment could do nothing more. Now it was up to the Sitha to live or die. “How can I help you?”
“It is this library of Master Tiamak’s. Well, it is the king’s and queen’s library, I suppose, but you know what I mean. The little fellow seems to do nothing else these days.”
“Not at the moment, as you know, since he is with them on the journey to Elvritshalla.”
“Yes, but that is why I want to speak to you. Lord Tiamak seems most adamant that all the old books in the Hayholt must be found and written down and put in his library.” She shook her head. “All of them!”
“I am sure that he does not mean to take your own books, my lady.” Idela was known to spend much of her time reading the Book of the Aedon, or at least memorizing appropriate phrases that she could use to point up the failings of others. “It is the rare books, Princess, the old ones, that Tiamak is so anxious to protect.” The longer the conversation lasted, the more he was feeling the tug of other duties. Idela, who was used to being waited on and cosseted, was clearly puzzled by his distraction.
“Yes, and that’s just it,” she said. “My John Josua had many books, as you know. So many books! Sometimes I despaired of his attention. Even when Morgan came, the midwife could scarcely get him to lift his nose from one of them long enough to leave the room.”
“Your husband would have been a great scholar, Highness—was a great scholar even in his short time. He had a rare gift.” Which was true, but he doubted Idela’s ambitions for John Josua had tended in that direction.
“There is a collection of books that Tiamak has not seen. I would not even open them myself—only the good Lord knows what horrors are in them, what ancient blasphemies—but they look very old to me. Some are only rolls of parchment tied with string. I wish you would come by and look at them. If they belong in this library he and the king and queen are building, the Wrannaman is welcome to them.”
“I beg your pardon, lady, but why me? Surely Master Tiamak should be the judge of what belongs in the library.”
“Oh, but that little man is so greedy! I do not trust him to take only those that are truly old and valuable. And I do not want to lose my husband’s possessions. They are all I have left.”
Pasevalles knew that what she really wanted was to have him to herself for a while out of the public eye, and to draw him deeper into her circle. Idela was not entirely satisfied being only the mother of the heir, and was an active participant in the Hayholt’s incessant contests of power and influence. But was that all? She had certainly pursued him for much of the last year, seeking him out, asking his opinion. Pasevalles was beginning to wonder whether she had some deeper interest in him. She was not an astonishing beauty, but she was certainly comely, with large eyes and a fine, straight nose much like her father Osric’s. A man seeking to improve his position could do worse than a dalliance with the prince’s widow.
As long as that man could keep her sweet, he reminded himself. That was a less certain proposition. Her power depended on something that could not be undone, so she was immune to most forms of persuasion.
In any case, it was a knotty problem, and not one Pasevalles wished to spend time on now.
He took the princess’s hand and kissed it. “You do me too much credit, Highness. I am ignorant of most such matters of scholarship—my schooling was more the rough and tumble sort one gets in a backwater court like Metessa. But I will put my mind to your problem and come to you with a solution very soon. Will you give me your leave to resume my less interesting duties?” And he smiled, hoping it would serve as a reassurance no matter what she truly planned.
“Of course, good Pasevalles. You are the best of men. Go and do what you must do. I know that the king and queen must have left you a dreadful burden to carry in Eolair’s absence.”
And you are a significant part of that burden, lady—or might become that if I do not deal with you carefully. “You are too kind, Princess.” He made a bow, then left her. Behind him he heard Idela and her ladies giggling softly among themselves, like fairy music on the wind.
10
Hymns of the Lightless
Nobody who lived in Nakkiga could be completely surprised to find soldiers at their door, but Viyeki had not expected a troop of the feared Hamakha Wormslayer Guards to arrive at his house in the middle hours of the night to demand that he accompany them. Faceless in their helmets, stern and utterly formal in their speech, the soldiers made no threats but it was clear that he had no choice except to go with them.
Viyeki knew all too well that such invitations were generally the formal precursor to an execution. Despite his overwhelming shock, he still could not help wondering why, if he had fallen from her grace so completely, the Mother of All had given him an audience and new orders just a few days earlier. Could this arrest be some private scheme of Akhenabi’s instead, using the queen’s authority to remove him? If so, it seemed to be a new tactic: ordinarily, the Lord of Song’s enemies simply disappeared, or succumbed to sudden and mysterious ailments.
Still, the guard chieftain had a summons that bore the queen’s seal, which meant Viyeki could only go with them and try to prepare himself for whatever might follow.
Viyeki’s secretary Yemon was suspiciously absent from the household, so he directed his second cleric to ask the Hamakha guards to wait a short time for the dignity of his office. He bade his servants dress him in his magisterial robes, his great outer tunic, his sashes and belts, and did his best to stand unmoving as they did so, keeping limbs, face, and breathing respectably calm.
“Where am I being taken?” Viyeki asked as his ornamented collar was tied in place.
“That is not for me to say,” the Wormslayer chieftain replied. “Only that you are to make haste to come with us, High Magister.”
At that moment his wife burst into the room, startling one of Viyeki’s servants into dropping the magister’s ceremonial mattock. As the tool clattered on the stones, the Wormslayers calmly leveled their spears at her. “What happens here?” she demanded. Despite the dishevelment of her nightwear, Khimabu eyed the Hamakha guards with contempt. Viyeki noticed that she also darted a glance at his bed, no doubt to see if Tzoja had been with him. “Why do these people trouble us, husband?”
“I truly do not know, my lady wife, but it is a lawful summons in the queen’s name. We will trust to the wisdom of Our Mother that all will be resolved as it should be. I have done nothing wrong.” He looked at the empty features of the chieftain. “Is that not correct?”
The leader stared forward, unblinking. “It is not for me to say, High Magister.”
“Ah, yes. So you mentioned.” Viyeki snapped his fingers, and his servants stepped forward to help him with the last of his clothing, the heavy over-mantle. “How should I call you, officer? Do you have a name?”