Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (110 page)

After that she couldn’t get out fast enough, but she still had to endure a vote of thanks. Then there was nothing for it but to leave, Elena at her back, and hear the door close behind her. She’d put her last days as ruler to good use, working from dawn until midnight: ratifying land for the lamiae and restoring the legal code to what it had been before the Dorobon came – a secular code, administered collectively by the nobles and bureaucrats, with appeal to the Crown. Undoing the work of two years of Dorobon misrule, approving appeals for injustices perpetrated under their reign, and approving a rebuilding plan that would not be able to easily be cancelled by whoever became king. It had left her worn down and exhausted. She stumbled and paused, gripped the rail, breathing heavily and trying to pretend it was just tiredness, not the depression she could feel closing in on her.

How will I ever endure being nobody again . . . ?

‘Cera,’ Elena murmured, ‘are you all right?’

‘I don’t know.’ She blinked back tears. ‘Did I do right? I could have been
queen
.’

‘But you chose not to be. Do you regret that now?’

‘No . . . and yes. I was afraid it would lead to civil war. So soon after the Moontide – it could have broken us.’ She met the Noros woman’s gaze. ‘But all the things I could have done – good things,
right
things! Of course there are regrets.’

Elena’s face softened a little. ‘For what it’s worth, I believe you did the right thing. Few people can resist such an opportunity, but you would have started a war that might have sent Javon spiralling into destruction. Sometimes change has to be gradual, even if that prolongs the suffering of those who should be protected. The reforms you would have passed would have alienated many, and made you a target for more than just hostile words.’

‘Than perhaps it’s a good thing I’m going to live the rest of my days in a box in Kesh,’ Cera replied bitterly. She looked wearily up the stairs. ‘Where are the ambassadors?’

‘In the state rooms, waiting for me,’ Elena said softly. ‘They asked to see me while they await the Royal Election.’

Cera raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe they just enjoyed my company last time they were here?’

*

While Cera trudged up to pack her bags, Elena strode through Brochena Palace to meet with the ambassadors in their guest rooms. They’d arrived the previous night and been banqueted and entertained with musical performances and dancers and a dozen courses of Jhafi delicacies conjured from the remains of war by some kitchen mage. Their mission here was to greet the new Javon king, whoever that might be, then tomorrow, their windship would take them and Cera south.

For some reason, they urgently wanted to speak to the dreaded Elena Anborn first.

She found them seated on cushioned stone benches in a viewing cupola overlooking the northern side of the city and the salt lake, idly studying the ceiling frescoes. They were guarded by young men in dark robes – clearly Hadishah – who despite their role were clearly reluctant to pat her down for weapons. She made it easy for them by handing them her blades before approaching the ambassadors. They exchanged the traditional greetings and reverences, then sat. A servant scuttled in, poured sharbat, offered the mezze platter around, then scurried away.

Salim of Kesh had sent the same pair of ambassadors he’d sent in 928, two years ago: the portly Faroukh of Maal, Salim’s uncle, and the iron-bearded Godspeaker Barra Xuok. Then, Cera had been a young woman on a besieged throne and desperate for allies, enough to agree to wed one of her nation’s traditional foes in exchange for guarantees about autonomy during the Moontide. She’d conceded a permanent Keshi embassy, with the ambassador permitted a seat on the Regency Council, and given herself in marriage so that Javon could keep its manpower and self-rule during the shihad. It was a poor deal, made at a time when her bargaining position was weak.

But now that young woman was a widow, after a not-quite forced marriage to a Rondian mage, as well as being a convicted murderess, smeared as a safian, and no longer the senior family member of her House.

The phrase ‘damaged goods’ barely covers it
, Elena reflected.

‘The world has changed greatly,’ Faroukh said, to open discussions.

Godspeaker Barra Xuok lifted both hands skywards. ‘Ahm has been generous in His blessings this Moontide. We have seen great victories, at Shaliyah and Ebensar, and here in Ja’afar also. The Rondians are gone, and we pray that the Third Crusade will be the last.’

‘I hope so too.’

The Godspeaker’s stony face softened just a little in remembrance. ‘When last we talked, Lady, we had many – I think understandable – suspicions concerning you and your role here. But you have sacrificed much for your young protégé, fought long and well in the service of the Nesti and Ja’afar, and found love with a young man of the East. You have won our trust. Sultan Salim has hopes that you will continue to play a role in Ja’afar, even after the Princessa joins his court in Sagostabad.’

‘Even after my freeing of the Ordo Costruo from the Hadishah?’ she asked, arching an eyebrow.

‘The Sultan regrets the loss of life, obviously, and Emir Rashid is not enamoured of the act. But Salim understands why a request for aid was not made to him first.’

‘The Hadishah have raised documents of condemnation against both Kazim and me.’

‘They will be asked to revoke them,’ Faroukh replied soothingly. ‘Salim rejoices that the Ordo Costruo have returned to society, and looks forward to welcoming their embassies to his court.’

‘I suppose the status of magi in Keshi and Dhassan society will change somewhat, now that Salim and Rashid have them openly at court?’

‘Indeed, Lady. As it has already in Ja’afar.’

‘We do have more acceptance,’ she agreed. ‘And of course, the Ordo Costruo have agreed to help protect Javon by becoming custodians of the Krak di Condotiori.’
So you can’t invade, even if you wanted to.

‘This is known, Lady,’ Godspeaker Barra replied. ‘And what of yourself?’

Elena glanced down at her stomach, now noticeably expanded. ‘My future here in Brochena is uncertain at this stage. As you can see, I am with child. At the very least, I will be retiring from public life until I have recovered from the birthing.’

‘We offer you our sincerest congratulations, Lady,’ Faroukh said. ‘A unique child, I am told.’

That’s true.
‘Every child is unique.’ Not wanting to discuss it further, she changed the subject. ‘Surely the sultan is concerned about Cera’s changed circumstances?’

The two ambassadors glanced at each other, then nodded carefully. Barra Xuok spoke first. ‘It is fair to say that a young virgin with some small experience in statecraft agreed to this betrothal; but Cera Nesti is no longer that girl. We have heard reports of a contentious woman administering mob justice from the zenana, convicted of regicide and perversion. The former charge is uncertain, perhaps, and the latter is denied, but we are given to understand that she has extended protection to the infamous Sacro Arcoyris Estellan, which does nothing to quell rumours about her . . .’

‘Indeed: Staria’s people have agreed to remain in the Rift Forts in return for autonomy from certain laws.’

‘We will be watching them closely, Lady,’ Godspeaker Xuok said dourly.

I bet you will.
‘Staria’s people aided the fight for freedom in Javon. All here know and are grateful.’

‘But their predilections—’

‘—did not prevent them from contributing nobly.’ Elena met the Godspeaker’s eyes steadily, until he waved a hand, letting the issue go. She took that as a sign that other concessions might be possible, but that Cera’s reputation worried them.

What would Kesh make of a woman revered as a Saint in Javon? Especially one with a reputation for being independent of mind and tainted by all these associations? How does Salim really feel about it?

‘Gentlemen, my understanding is that a sultan’s betrothal is completely binding?’

Godspeaker Xuok nodded stiffly. ‘The reason such alliances are made is to bind two nations in peace, so legally only a state of war can be invoked to break it. Of course, no such war is desired, but the history of Javon and Kesh is not peaceful, and Salim’s honour does not permit him to allow any slight upon his name. Whether she fully understood that or not, Cera Nesti gave her vow irrevocably. Nor can Ja’afar easily ignore the snub if Salim breaks the betrothal: what that would say is that Ja’afar is beneath his notice. It would isolate your people in a hostile world.’

‘So, will the old traditions of kidnapping the bride have to be resurrected?’ Faroukh added drily.

‘Cera understands her duty,’ Elena replied. ‘But there are some things you need to know first.’

*

The first act of Massimo di Kestria – now King Massimo I of Javon – was to welcome the Keshi ambassadors formally to his court and accept their congratulations. The election had been tight, but Emilio Gorgio and Theo Vernio-Nesti had swung in behind Massimo on the third ballot, leaving previous front-runner Stefan di Aranio gnashing his teeth in frustration. The crowning would be tomorrow, but for now, another matter took precedence: the formal claiming of a bride.

‘The world has changed,’ Faroukh of Maal proclaimed before the court, in reply to King Massimo’s welcome. ‘War came, and our Great Sultan was at the forefront of the struggle. Our losses were shocking, the destruction immense. Yet we have prevailed, here, as in Kesh and Dhassa.’ He bowed to Cera. ‘Ahm smiles upon your intended, Lady Cera.’

‘I am blessed,’ Cera replied dully. This feast would be her last taste of public life of Javon, or most likely anywhere else, bar her wedding in Kesh. She was struggling to hold back tears, but this moment was of her own making, so she had to bear it.

Better this than civil war . . .
She looked at Elena, but the Noros woman would not return her glance. She was clinging to Kazim’s arm; both were recovering steadily from their wounds.

Faroukh raised his booming voice still further. ‘Salim, mightiest pillar of our nation, lion of the deserts, has devoted himself to the crushing of his enemies! Yet now his sword is sheathed and the time for healing has come. Kesh will take years to banish the ghoulish visages of plague, famine and death that blight our sacred soil—’

‘War was ever thus,’ Massimo agreed, clearly puzzled at the direction Faroukh was taking.

Cera was wondering herself. These words weren’t the ones she was expecting.

Faroukh smote his chest, staring tragically into the heavens. ‘The years ahead will be full of labour. There will be no time for pleasure. No time for joy. Our noble sultan has pledged to revive his stricken land!’

A mutter ran about the court and the lords of Javon looked at each other in consternation. What was the ambassador saying? Cera looked at Elena suddenly.
Is Salim revoking our betrothal?

Though her heart leaped, she knew the consequences would be dire. In the eyes of Ahmedhassa, such a snub would be a signal that Kesh saw Javon as beneath consideration. That would impact everything from border security, to terms of trade, to interest rates on the loans they required to rebuild. It could cripple Javon for years.

The court fell silent, straining their ears, as Faroukh went on, ‘It is for these reasons that Salim feels that he must
defer
the wedding
indefinitely
.’

There was a collective intake of breath throughout the court.

‘It is no light decision,’ Godspeaker Barra Xuok put in. ‘But there is a clear precedent, in the betrothal of the Prophet’s son Tahmuhk to the Princess of Vida during the War of Black Stars.’

Cera’s experience was that a skilled religious scholar could find whatever he liked in a big enough holy book, but she did recall the affair Xuok had invoked: Tahmuhk, in the end,
never
married the Princess of Vida. The betrothal was only formally ended by Tahmuhk’s death fifty-four years later.

She looked sideways at Elena, realised her mouth had dropped open and shut it firmly. The Noros woman didn’t smile, just gave the faintest lift of her chin.
Did she do this?

‘Lady Cera, I can only imagine the distress this must cause you,’ Faroukh said gravely. ‘For not only is this hoped-for union not currently possible, but you must retire to a preparatory zenana regardless, and live in solitude until he summons you. Public life is no longer open to you in such a role.’

Mater Lune, he doesn’t want to wed me, just lock me away . . .

Did Elena arrange this as revenge?

By now the whispers about the court were audible, and the thunder on the brows of King Massimo and the other lords of Javon was clear. Everyone was looking about, unsure how to react.

‘The sultan regrets that he is unsure when he may finally call upon you,’ Faroukh said, raising his voice above the growing hubbub. ‘However, Sultan Salim does retain the right to appoint an ambassador to Javon as agreed, with full council rights!’ The courtiers narrowed their eyes, and Cera could feel the rebellious whispers at this. Salim was effectively rejecting Cera in all but name, but still reaping the benefits of the alliance.

Godspeaker Barra stepped forward, his harsh voice cutting through the noise. ‘In token of your role in saving Ja’afar from the Crusaders, Lady Cera, our sultan prays that you will accept appointment as his ambassador, and the permanent place on the Javonesi Royal Council that it entails. He gives dispensation to attend the requisite duties, despite your seclusion.’

Cera had to put her hand to her mouth to stop from choking. She stared at the Godspeaker, then at Faroukh, who were watching her intently. She had enough prepossession to put her hand to her chest and groan in dismay. A few seconds later the smarter courtiers were doing the same.

One glance at King Massimo and the other lords told her they were shocked; but there was enough grim satisfaction and appreciation on the faces of men like Emir Mekmud, Saarif Jelmud and even Justiano di Kestria and the other fighting men that she knew she wouldn’t lack support. And her loyal Nesti men looked like they’d just found a gold coin at the bottom of their cups.