The King's Justice (17 page)

To myself, I thought, Hence Indemnie's long history of peace. Though the colonies were five, they were one people, all transplanted or abandoned for no cause that I could discern. They had no natural antipathy.

Still I sat silent, unwilling to interrupt Excrucia's tale.

Once again, her gaze returned to her surroundings, and to me. “It will interest you, I think, to hear that these negotiations were not conducted by names such as deVry and Phlegathon. The scrolls speak of Lords Plinth and Estobate. One parchment cites a Harmoty Indolent. And another states that all matters pertaining to leadership and rule were managed by families that
were not ‘gift-kin'—who were therefore presumably descended from the ‘adherents.' The tasks of the gifted were deemed too vital to be vexed by the more mundane affairs of expanding populations.”

This also I understood. If hieronomers were required to discover sources of
chrism
, their services were surely much in demand.

“Taken together,” Excrucia continued, “the records thereafter prompt little imagining. Indemnie became increasingly bountiful. The colonies grew apace—as did their subjects of contention. Their negotiations became ever more complex, the resolutions ever more formal. Thus it ensued—naturally, to my mind—that clear boundaries were established, clear rights codified. The lands thereby demarked became baronies as their lords or leaders elected to style themselves barons—a reflection, I believe, of the form of governance practiced in their lost homeland.

“Still the sources of contention grew as the populations increased. One scroll asserts that the hieronomers of the baronies began to offer conflicting auguries. Another implies that the alchemists were disinclined to respect the governance of men who were not gifted. And the barons themselves chafed at the difficulties of achieving agreement when each held differing desires. Eventually they concluded that the only peaceful solution to their various dilemmas was to raise up a monarch whose word would bind them all.

“In addition, they concluded that only a gifted monarch
would be able to command the loyalty and service of the isle's hieronomers and alchemists. Therefore they arranged a union between the two oldest families believed to have the purest blood. And when the joining of Amelda deVry and Arrant Phlegathon produced a daughter, that child upon her coming of age was proclaimed Queen Amarra Phlegathon deVry, the first of her line.”

Briefly my companion sighed. “So my tales ends. The sequence of the Queens you know.” Then her manner quickened. “However, the records hold one other secret which will interest you. The Articles of Coronation signed by the barons of the time grant to the Queen authority in all matters pertaining to the well-being of the realm as a whole. So much appears both natural and necessary. But the Articles also stipulate the manner in which the succession is to be secured—and thereby they account for the choice of a Queen rather than a King.”

I found that I was holding my breath. I had long pondered the curious detail that each of Indemnie's Queens had birthed a daughter ere offering her hand in wedlock—and that this child had been universally accepted as the legitimate heir. But I had been unable to grasp the purpose of the custom.

As she spoke, Excrucia watched me closely, gauging my reaction. “I will not quote the document itself. It is lengthy. But in sum, it recognizes that sexual congress may produce a bewildering variety of offspring, some or all with a claim upon the throne, yet the child of a woman's body is hers beyond question. Therefore the Articles require that the Queen must give birth to
a daughter ere she chooses to wed. To that end, she must procure the guidance of a hieronomer, presumably to ensure that she does not produce a son in error.

“Further, the child's father must be and forever remain unknown. His identity must be concealed so that he—and any other offspring of his loins—can have no claim upon either his royal daughter or his royal paramour. Similarly, any man whom the Queen subsequently elects to wed will have no claim, either direct or through his children.”

While I stared, momentarily struck witless, Excrucia recounted her conclusions.

“By such measures, the barons plainly sought to prevent any challenge to the rule and succession of Indemnie's Queen. Their history of negotiated resolution rather than violent conflict assures us that they wished to preserve the realm's future from civil war. But the rather extreme severity of the stipulation suggests that those barons had another purpose as well, one which is not named in the Articles.

“I cannot resist one final supposition, that the terms of succession were intended to guard the purity of their monarch's lineage. Queen Amarra Phlegathon deVry, first of her line, was the daughter of two families known to be gifted. I suspect that the barons desired every later Queen to be similarly gifted, with as little admixture or dilution of her ancestors' abilities as possible.

“This, I think, explains the insistence upon hieronomers. Their task was not merely to choose a father who would produce
a daughter. It was also to choose a father descended from the founding gift-kin.”

Under my companion's scrutiny, I floundered for a response. My Queen was of the isle's purest blood? She, too, was capable of hieronomy? Why, then, did she not perform her own auguries? Of what use was I? Was her fear of my comprehension an exact expression of her own straits? Knowing and judging her own purposes, did she thereby falsify her ability to scry?

But I could not burden Excrucia with such concerns. Compelled by her gaze, I summoned a more immediate question. “Gift-kin?” I echoed, striving to regain my wits. “It appears that the term must refer to men and women who share the abilities common to hieronomers and other augurs—and that these abilities are passed from mother and father to child.” Or to grandchild, as in my own case. “You now grasp my interest in lineage.” Then I shook myself, hoping thereby to master my unspoken confusion. “Do you believe that alchemists also are gift-kin?”

Of alchemy I knew little, but on the instant I felt certain that it required blood, as did my own gifts—blood and heritage.

My companion nodded without hesitation. “I am sure of it. I can think of no other reason for Indemnie's alchemists to refuse fealty to any monarch not gifted—or for the barons to support the wishes of their alchemists in such formal and stringent terms. Indeed, the well-being of the realm depends as much on the services of alchemists as on those of hieronomers.”

As much, I thought, or more. To my poorly informed mind, the services of alchemists appeared both more practical and more reliable than my auguries. By common repute, those services had been essential to the construction of the Domicile. They were also much credited in the formation of Indemnie's harbors, and in many smaller achievements across the realm.

While Excrucia studied my visage, I considered my duty to my Queen. And when I had considered it, I replied in a voice made thick by uncertainties, “Then I must speak with an alchemist.”

Excrucia's scrutiny of my features became still more acute. At the same time, her tone resumed the aridity of concentration—or perhaps of rigidly suppressed emotion.

“Nothing could be simpler. I will instruct Vail to summon such a man. Doubtless Vail will not abandon my protection himself. However, he will command others in my name. Some days may pass—alchemists are considered a self-absorbed lot, resistant to compliance—but your wishes will be satisfied.”

After an unseemly delay, I rallied myself to thank her. She had already done much in my aid. I could hardly estimate the amount of gratitude that she had earned from me. Was she not effectively defying her mother for my sake? She was. Also her very life was in peril. Nevertheless my bewilderments and doubts precluded a profuse expression.

Her regard did not waver. Her tone did not soften. “Then you must answer a query of mine, as I have answered yours.”

Earlier I had confessed my motive. Now I could not imagine what further concern might trouble her. Still I felt a lonely man's desire to be understood. And I was unwilling to spurn my only ally—my only friend. With some difficulty, I murmured, “Name it.”

“You have spoken of ‘dooms.'” She sounded parched as dust. “Your auguries have revealed that more than one calamity gathers toward Indemnie. What do you fear will fall upon us? What do you fear so extremely that you seek to oppose my mother's wishes?”

I was unable to meet her gaze. Speaking to the stained floor, I replied, “They are two. I have performed auguries beyond count, but they do not vary. If we are not enslaved by some power from the east, we will descend to barbarism.”

Then I conceded, “It may be that other outcomes are possible, but my small gifts do not reveal them. I am my Queen's Hieronomer. I must believe what I have learned.”

There I paused, awaiting protests or demands. I imagined that my companion would wish to know how these catastrophes might befall Indemnie. Indeed, I dreaded such questions. I had no answers that would not cause pain—or occasion disbelief.

But when it came, Excrucia's response was not an inquiry. It was an assertion—or perhaps a recognition. “You have spoken of this with my mother.”

“I have.” Still I confessed myself to the floor. “Indeed, I hold myself culpable for her present policies,” for her manipulations
and betrayals, of which her offer of wedlock to all the barons was only the most recent example. “The machinations which now beset Indemnie did not commence until I began to perform my tasks as Her Majesty's augur.”

To my surprise, Excrucia favored my accusation with scorn. An angry oath compelled me to face her.

“Fie, Mayhew! My mother's deeds and policies are her own. You merely exercise your gifts. You do not determine the use to which she commits your scrying.”

Confronted by my companion's ire, I did not disclose what was in my mind. I might have said, My Queen acts as she does because I have made her afraid. But I had given a young girl too many burdens. I did not desire her to bear more.

Also, as I have said, she was far from dull. I could trust that she would infer more than I expressed.

Quietly I replied, “She is more than your mother, Excrucia. She is our rightful ruler, charged with sovereignty because we have no other means to live as we do. If we do not understand her, we must nonetheless place our faith in her. We must do so especially when we do not understand.”

Had Inimica Phlegathon deVry not foreseen that her daughter would require a bodyguard? I had not done so much, though I had bathed my hands in lakes of blood.

While I watched, Excrucia strove visibly to contain her indignation. After a moment, she retorted, “As you say.” Then she rose to her feet, concealing her visage in her hood once more. More calmly—or perhaps more drily—she added, “I will speak
with Vail.” A heartbeat later, she continued, “And I will ask my mother what gain she finds in policies that can only sow discontent, if they do not provoke worse. I will ask her to account for the attempt on my life.”

She startled me. Indeed, she frightened me. Yet she also prompted me. Without pause for consideration, I returned, “If you would dare so much, dare more. Ask her if she has spies among the baronies. Ask her if she has learned of intended betrayals, of impending rebellions.”

As the girl turned to depart, she repeated only, “As you say.” Then she was gone.

Her manner baffled me. She was my Queen's daughter, therefore proud. At the same time, she was ashamed to be perceived—indeed, to perceive herself—as plain and dull. Therefore she was humble. Also she had a private courage that expanded my bewilderment. I could not grasp the workings of her heart.

Yet I fretted over graver concerns when my companion had departed. Did my Queen know of her daughter's alliance with me? Beyond question, Vail knew of it. How could he not? He watched over Excrucia while she slept. Surely he shadowed her every waking step. Thus if his devotion as he saw it belonged to Inimica Phlegathon deVry, he would speak—and I would be lost. But if his post as Excrucia's bodyguard included his loyalty, he might keep silent and name his silence duty. In that event, I might keep my head yet awhile.

He had outfaced his monarch's ire in the aftermath of the
attempt on Excrucia's life. Perhaps, albeit indirectly, he would do as much for me.

M
y Queen's solstice ball remained some fortnights distant, yet while I floundered in uncertainty, apprehension, and wasted blood, events within the Domicile—indeed, movements throughout the realm—appeared to quicken. Inimica Phlegathon deVry forbade unions which one baron or another had approved. She encouraged marriages which the immediate families had declined to countenance. She dismissed contentions which pertained directly to her rule over Indemnie, preferring rather to meddle in matters which properly belonged to individual baronies—matters such as grazing rights and access to timber. Thus she stirred the pot of discontent, usurping the prerogatives of the barons while undermining her own authority.