Saint's Blood: The Greatcoats Book 3 (41 page)

‘The Viscounts and Margraves won’t stand for this,’ Matrist said.

‘Look around,’ Aline replied. ‘You’ll find the palace in short supply of noblemen right now. Your job, Chamberlain, is to see to it anyone who needs to leave the palace can do so quickly. There might be some here to whom the Church won’t take kindly, and it would be best they were gone before they decide to make use of the Inquisitors.’

‘Pardon my saying, my Lady,’ Ciradoc began, ‘but first among those would be yourselves.’

Aline acknowledged the man’s concern for her. ‘Don’t worry about us, Captain. We’ll be leaving in due course.’

‘Can I —? Some of my men could—’

‘No, Captain. When the clerics arrive, I will depart with the dignity required of my station.’

The captain looked uncertainly at the girl standing before him. ‘Excuse me for asking, but how?’

Aline smiled. ‘Through the front door, of course.’

*

I managed to restrain myself until after the guardsman and the chamberlain had left, but then I shouted, ‘Have you lost your mind?’

Aline held herself very firm. ‘As of right now, First Cantor, I am taking on the duties of the Realm’s Protector of Tristia. I need your support in this. Do the Greatcoats stand with me?’

I clenched my hands in frustration. Of all the problems I had to deal with, a teenage girl’s naïve notions of how to run a country shouldn’t have been one of them. Brasti, Kest, even Mateo would follow my orders. If I told them to ignore Aline and get her somewhere safe, lock her in until the danger was past, they’d do it.
After all, it’s our job to protect her, even if it’s from herself.

I was about to speak when Valiana grabbed for my wrist. She took my hand and squeezed, and somehow I understood that she wanted me to trust Aline, a fourteen-year-old girl who was badly traumatised by the events of her young life. The sane, sensible thing to do would be to treat her that way – except that I’d thought the same of Valiana not long ago and she’d proved me wrong.
Maybe it’s not enough to protect people
, I thought suddenly
. Maybe sometimes I have to trust them, too.
‘The Greatcoats stand with you,’ I said.

‘Enough of this nonsense,’ the Tailor said, stepping up to the dais. She reached out a hand for her granddaughter. ‘Sweetling, I know you want to show you’re brave, but this—’

‘Silence,’ Aline said.

The command had been delivered with such force that it took me a moment to realise it wasn’t Valiana speaking. Aline stood there, unflinching while the Tailor gave her a stare that I was absolutely convinced would stop a raging bear in its tracks, and I realised that Aline had probably been readying herself for this fight from the moment we’d entered the throne room.

‘The laws don’t exist for your convenience, Tailor. They weren’t written to give you the means to exact your revenge on the world for all your grievances.’ Aline looked at each of us in turn. ‘You all think I’m a little girl, barely able to keep from falling apart at the seams.’ She stepped down from the dais and walked over to one of the tall windows that looked out to the courtyard. ‘Yesterday – yesterday that was true. Yesterday, I could afford to be a weak child who couldn’t hold a sword properly and lived or died only by the whims of others. But today, when we know . . . we
know
the enemy seeks to use my weakness against us all? I can’t afford to be that silly little girl any more. So today I am Aline, daughter of Paelis, heir to the throne of Tristia, and until Valiana is free from that mask, I am also the Realm’s Protector, and anyone who tries to dispute or ignore that fact will answer to me.’

In tone, in style, in raw determination, it was like watching Valiana in action.
Valiana’s been training her for this, for this moment, in case something happened.
Sometimes it took me a while to catch up.

Valiana squeezed my hand again, not seeking explanation of what was happening but more tenderly, and it suddenly occurred to me that
she
was trying to reassure
me
. I squeezed back, wishing I could say to her what was in my heart:
you are the woman fathers dream of bringing into the world.

The Tailor and I looked at each other, two angry, broken creatures seeking only to protect Aline as we had failed to protect her father. Neither of us knew what to do next.

But at least we knew who was in charge.

*

For the next several minutes Aline proceeded to give us our orders in a whirl of words. This was her country now, for as many hours or days as she could hold it. She called for the rest of the palace staff, told them what was to come and instructed them on what they needed to do during the transition. I was amazed at how much she had learned in such a short time.

When she took Brasti aside and gave him his instructions, his eyes widened, and then he gave a smile. ‘For once someone gives me orders I like.’

Shortly before dawn she ordered Kest to get Ethalia out of the palace; we’d all meet up later, a few miles outside the city. Mateo was sent through the servants’ passage to the back of the palace with the bag of nightmist. The Tailor and Pastien went to pack up any vital documents that might be needed.

I was wondering what my last job in Luth might be when Aline announced, ‘I need you with me when I meet with the clerics.’

‘What for?’

‘I might need you to intimidate them a little.’

This is how it falls apart
, I thought.
She believes I’m some grand hero who will chase away all her enemies with a stern glance.

Seeing my hesitation, Aline said, ‘Of course I have doubts, Falcio, but I’m going to need you to have faith in me now.’

Faith.
The one thing I had never had much of. Even so, there was only one answer. ‘Whatever comes, I’ll stand with you,’ I said.

She smiled faintly and returned to the endless preparations. There wasn’t much I could contribute so I just waited until all her orders had been issued, then Aline joined me where I was sitting with my back against the wall at the far end of the dais.

‘So what now?’ I asked.

‘Now we wait until the clerics arrive, and then we go out there to deal with them.’ She sat next to me and stretched out her legs. ‘It’s all right, Falcio. It’s just like Rijou during the Blood Week – all we have to do is fight our way out.’ She spoke with the perfect confidence of a duellist who has no idea what they’re about to face.

Is she still Aline
? I wondered.
Is she still the child broken by too much tragedy?
If the rest is an act, a performance, how long will it hold?
In Rijou we’d faced Ganath Kalila and a city full of killers and thieves, men and women who would’ve traded Aline’s life for a single black penny. That felt so long ago now. We’d accomplished so much, come so close – here we sat, in the middle of a Ducal Palace, on friendly ground.

‘We were supposed to be safe here,’ I said.

Aline reached over and took my hand in hers. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against my shoulder. ‘Nowhere’s safe, Falcio,’ she said sadly. ‘Haven’t you figured that out yet?’

The hours slipped by unnoticed. Aline and I dozed off, leaning against each other like two vagrants snoozing against a tavern wall. At some point I heard shouting from outside and the door opened – some errant nobleman, probably demanding an audience with Pastien, had jostled his way past the guards. Whatever he’d expected to see probably wasn’t Aline and me looking preposterous slumped together, having a nap on the floor. I wondered briefly if he’d been embarrassed, then went back to sleep.

I awoke some time later to a hand shaking me. ‘The clerics are here,’ Captain Ciradoc said. He really didn’t look very happy. ‘Lady Aline, are you sure you won’t let me—?’

‘You have your orders, Captain: just you, and the men at the gate.’

I rubbed at my eyes and then saw Aline holding a silver platter at arm’s length, using it as a mirror. ‘This isn’t quite the correct attire for welcoming dignitaries,’ she said, smoothing her dress, ‘but it’s formal enough not to ruffle too many feathers.’

‘Ha!’ I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring my aching joints. ‘Since most of the clerics I’ve met wore grubby robes so worn I was lucky not to find myself greeting their private parts, I don’t imagine we need worry too much about whether we’re sporting rabbit instead of ermine.’

*

It turned out that I was quite wrong: the three clerics who awaited us outside the palace gates looked as regal as Kings, their richly coloured silk and brocade robes flapping in the breeze like the proud flags of a conquering nation. They were made even more magnificent set against the field of spotless white tabards on the hundred Knights standing behind them. The two hundred-odd pilgrims in the courtyard looked upon them in awe. Even Quentis and his Inquisitors had given their grey leather coats a bit of a polish.
Enjoy your pretty clothes while you can, friend.

Aline had cautioned me to remain calm and dignified and I put every effort to that endeavour, though the white tabards were filling me with fury.
I am
so
sick of Knights
, I thought.
They’re at the centre of every fucking problem this country ever has.

‘Open the gate, Captain,’ Aline commanded Ciradoc.

The man looked askance at the force assembled outside and tried again to dissuade her, but she stopped him, saying, ‘Shush, Captain. I won’t be rude to our guests.’

He gave the order unhappily and the guards worked the winch and raised the middle gate. The clerics were about to walk in when Aline stepped out in front of them. ‘Welcome to the Ducal Palace of Luth, Venerati,’ she said, respectfully. ‘I am—’

Before she could finish her sentence, a servant in trim coat and matching trousers standing next to the clerics handed Aline a rolled-up piece of parchment.

As she unfurled the document I was almost overwhelmed by the grandeur of the thing: the thick, deeply textured material of the sort used by Kings, not clerics. I had some difficulty reading the calligraphy, Old Tristian inscribed with a rich black ink outlined in gold. A wax seal at the bottom displayed an emblem I had never seen before: nine tiny circles arranged in three lines, above which shone six stars.

Nine Duchies under six Gods? The new religion looks a lot like the old one.

‘Do you require help reading the document?’ the first cleric asked, and it took me a moment to recognise him as Obladias, the priest from the martyrium. He’d been wearing heavily patched grey robes the last time we’d met; he’d apparently decided that silk robes in the rich crimson of the God Purgeize suited him better.
Are you the enemy?
I wondered.
Are you the man who set this in motion?
I felt a powerful urge to draw my rapier and end him then and there.
Just in case.
Instead I said, ‘This document is very pretty, but I note it lacks a signature.’

The second of the three clerics, a heavyset man with Northern features sporting the more familiar greens of the God Argentus, or Coin, stepped forward, head bowed a little and eyes down. ‘It’s . . . If you look at the first line, you’ll see it says, “Voce omnius cericis en tatem”, which in the archaic form of Old Tristian means—’

‘We aren’t here to teach oafs and children how to read, Buther,’ Obladias said.

He seemed like such a humble fellow, the first time I met him. Not that I bought it . . .

‘Forgive me, Obladias, I only meant—’

‘The line reads, “In the united voice of all clerics”,’ Aline said clearly, and I couldn’t quite stop myself from looking at her in wonder. Other than Kest I didn’t know many people who could read even the simplified form of Old Tristian, never mind the archaic.

She smiled at me. ‘What was it you thought I did in my lessons, Falcio?’ She turned back to the document and glanced through the rest of it before unceremoniously rolling it back up and handing it off to Captain Ciradoc. ‘Your scribe would benefit from lessons in verb conjugation. The way he’s written the section on “providing unto the faithful a just and Godly rule” is in the past perfect tense, suggesting such service has already been rendered.’ She looked up at Obladias. ‘Unless that was your intent, Venerati? If so, I thank you for the souvenir and wish you a pleasant journey on your return home.’

Obladias looked neither impressed nor amused, but before he could speak, the third cleric, in the orange robes of the disciples of the God of Craft, gave a laugh and stepped forward. ‘Hello, my Lady. My name is Galbea. Please forgive our poor choice of scribe – events have moved rather quickly and I’m afraid we chose a skilful hand over accurate grammar.’ He gave Aline a flicker of a smile that made the wrinkles on his forehead crinkle together. ‘The lettering is pretty, though, don’t you think?’ He was of the same age as the other two men, but the harder life of a village cleric was written all over his face.

‘I wonder, Venerati,’ Aline said innocently, ‘have you come to declare war on Tristia’s Crown?’

Both Galbea and Buther looked slightly aghast, but Obladias fully embraced the arrogance of a man who’d dedicated his soul to the God of War. ‘Child, I ask again: are you having difficulty reading the words on the page? It is a message of
peace
– we are here to lend our support to this troubled Duchy in its hour of need.’

Aline didn’t return his condescending smile. The first phase of the game was apparently over. ‘I understood every word on the page, Venerati, just as I recognise the full meaning and intent of your choice of escort. By what right do three clerics and a band of thugs in mail seek to overthrow one of our Duchies?’

Obladias bridled at that. ‘It is hardly
your
Duchy, little miss, now is it? I have a great deal of trouble imagining that the Kings of old intended this palace to be a girl’s plaything.’

‘Obladias . . .’ Buther said, horrified. He was looking at me.

I tried to calm myself and match Aline’s expression; her face betrayed nothing, and yet I could sense a subtle gleam of satisfaction in her: she had made the cleric in red reveal something of himself – something she could use.