The Queen's Gambit (2 page)

She sighed happily and smoothed back her dripping hair. How good it was to be home. Only another day or two of dreary duties and then—

“In here, my lady.”

As the page spoke, he pushed open a heavily carved door leading into a sumptuous apartment lined with crimson silk. A
fire burned briskly on the hearth, and a bowl of apples on the table gave off a delicious fragrance.

It was so beautiful, civilized, and comfortable that she wanted to clap her hands in delight. Instead, she shook her head at the page. “Thank you, but please conduct me to my private apartments. I wish to rest.”

“Come inside, Lady Pheresa,” said a dry, thin voice that sent a prickle of unease running up her spine. “I have prayed much for your safe return. Now that you have finally arrived, please honor me by accepting my hospitality for a few moments.”

She did not recognize the voice, but she knew its owner meant her little good. Alarmed, she would have retreated, but Sir Brillon stood behind her and did not move aside.

“Let me by,” she said to him. “I do not wish to—”

“The cardinal wants a word, my lady,” Sir Brillon said, gripping her arm with fingers like steel. “Do him the courtesy of a little interview.”

Pheresa glared at Sir Brillon, but his black eyes met hers implacably. She realized, feeling suddenly chilled, that she'd entered a neatly laid trap. Thanks to the disorganization of the disembarkation and the distraction of the weather, she'd allowed herself to be ushered through a door no one else was using. She had been neatly cut off from the rest of the royal party, and although she could come to no true harm here within the walls of Savroix, she disliked such coercive tactics. They reminded her too much of her hostage days in Grov.

“Please do come in, my lady,” the dry voice said.

Seething, she stood rooted in place, her brown eyes afire as she glared at Sir Brillon. “Your hand offends me, sir,” she said in a low, very sharp voice. “Remove it at once.”

He released her with a slight bow, the twitch of his lips mocking her. Drawing herself very erect, Pheresa walked forward.

The cardinal rose from a chair and advanced to meet her. Attired in long white robes with a yellow sash of office and a diamond-studded Circle glittering on his chest, he was a short, very thin man, sporting a tidy gray goatee in the fashion
favored by the clergy. His green eyes were large and remarkable in his narrow face. They watched her with the coldness of a falcon marking its prey.

She recognized him now as Theloi, considered very conservative in his dogma, far more so than Noncire, whom he had apparently replaced. A few months ago, Pheresa would have found herself shy and nervous in this powerful man's presence. Now, although she did not like the way he studied her, she reminded herself that she had survived encounters with much more dangerous men.

“Please sit close to the fire,” he said. “Would you care for wine?”

“Nay, lord cardinal. I wish to retire to my apartments and change into dry clothing. Surely there is a better time for this meeting.”

“Of course, of course.” He glanced at Sir Brillon, who was prowling about the edges of the room like something caged, then returned his gaze to her. “You dislike my eagerness, but then I could not wait longer to see this Lady of the Miracle. This Lady of the Chalice.”

Pheresa concealed her grimace. She disliked being called either. 'Twas how the knights in Verence's army referred to her now. She hoped the practice was not going to be spread about the court.

“Please,” she said in protest. “I received the gift of restored life and health from the Chalice, but that is all. To call me by such phrases is to imply that I possess some magical powers or can pass along the wondrous blessing of the Chalice. I cannot.”

“So, I understand, you have claimed far and wide,” Theloi said.

She drew in a sharp breath and glanced involuntarily at Sir Brillon. “You are well informed, lord cardinal.”

“Come, come, my lady. Let us not parry words but instead speak plainly. The church is most interested in what has happened. It is, you understand, our business to investigate the matter thoroughly.”

“There is nothing to discover,” she said uneasily. “I was ill.
I would have died. The Netherans had me drink from the Chalice, and I was restored. That is all.”

Theloi smiled at her. “You are far too modest, Lady Pheresa. That can hardly be all. You understand that our most learned scholars wish to discuss the event in all its particulars.”

“Perhaps one day—”

“No, my lady. Now.”

She frowned. “Certainly not now. I have endured a long, difficult, most tedious journey. I wish to retire to my apartments. Later, the church scholars may petition me for an interview, but not until—”

“My lady, you misunderstand,” Cardinal Theloi said firmly. “Your personal effects have been transferred from the royal barge to a wagon. You will leave directly from this room for the nuncery at Batoine. There, you will live comfortably but retired, while the details of this miracle are explored and a full—”

“Never!”

“Lady Pheresa, you have no choice.”

Her heart began to pound. She darted a swift glance around the room and noticed that Sir Brillon stood between her and the door. Fear pierced her before she battled it down. She must not panic, she told herself. Theloi could not do what he threatened without her cooperation. No matter what he said, he did not rule Savroix, and he did not rule her.

She stared at him through narrowed eyes. “I do not believe I heard you correctly, lord cardinal. You mentioned a choice?”

“I said you have no choice, my lady.”

“You are mistaken,” she said sharply. “The king will not permit this abduction.”

“The king does not interfere in matters of the soul.”

“My soul is intact, thank you.”

“Ah,” Theloi said quietly, “but Prince Gavril's is not.”

She caught her breath, but said nothing. Suddenly she felt cornered indeed, frightened, and unsure of her ground.

Theloi's green eyes watched her with chilling confidence. “I think you begin to understand.”

Her mouth felt dry, so dry she could not swallow. She made no effort to speak.

Theloi said, “His highness was Nonkind at the time of his death, was he not?”

“You know he was.”

“Such a pity. He was a young man of tremendous beauty and promise. 'Tis said the king grieves hard.”

She felt a renewed surge of pity for Verence. He went about so melancholy and bleak, his joy in life obviously gone. Nightly he ordered prayer vigils for the soul of his doomed son, but no amount of prayer could restore what Gavril had lost.

“His majesty mourns Gavril deeply,” she admitted.

“But to no avail,” Theloi said without mercy. “Unless the church decides to intervene and help Gavril's soul reach Beyond.”

“Decides?” she echoed with scorn. “Do you churchmen have no pity? Where is love and understanding? Where is the desire to help all that you can, without regard for politics or gain?”

Theloi's green eyes flashed. “I serve Tomias!” he said. “Serve his teachings. To respect and serve those teachings is to obey what has been set forth in Writ:
And let the condemned stand before Thod in judgment, knowing the full pain and torment of wrongdoing. Let no mercy be written beside the sinner's name, to cancel his transgression. Let all tremble before Thod, and bow. For only a few shall not perish.
”

The holy words thundered at her as Theloi's voice gathered power and projection. She held herself rigid to keep from flinching, and finished the quote,
“Yet even the worst may know hope of forgiveness after a time of punishment, if enough prayer is said on his behalf. Let all hearts join in petition, and Thod will hear their pleas.”

“You dare to quote Writ!” Sir Brillon said in outrage from behind her.

She ignored him, but Theloi glanced his way with a frown, and Sir Brillon fell silent.

Theloi folded his hands inside his sleeves and regarded her
without expression. “You have remembered your pious studies well.”

She started to say that she had been educated at a nuncery school, but held her tongue. Theloi obviously knew that.

“There is a slim chance that eventually Gavril will receive the mercy of Thod,” he said. “But no guarantee. Certainly there is no chance without the devoted prayers of all clergy across the realm.”

“Why would you withhold such assistance?” she asked.

Theloi turned away from her and stood by the fire, gazing down into its orange flames with a brooding expression. The light flickered along his cheekbones, casting patterns of light and shadow across his face. “The Chalice has been missing for a generation, hidden and lost to all. Now it is found. This is a time for rejoicing, a time of many wonders to follow. You, my lady, are one of them. You must be protected.”

She tossed her head proudly. “I have other plans.”

He looked at her. “Your ambition is known to me.”

“Had I married Gavril before his death, succession would be mine.”

“But you did not.”

Pheresa frowned. She did not need something so obvious pointed out to her. That was the crux of her current problem. Yet if she was not named Verence's heir, who would be? And when was the king going to decide? She sighed, wishing that he had already made his choice. Had he named her heir before they left Grov, or even during the journey homeward, she would have been met today with a respectful reception. There would be no secret meetings of intrigue with cardinals, no veiled threats, no talk of being shut away for the rest of her life in a nuncery while church scholars debated over whether she should be named a saint or not.

“No one can come into such close contact with the holy Chalice and not be touched forever by it,” the cardinal said.

Pheresa held out her hands in frustration. “I have gained no special powers. I am whatever I was before.”

“Impossible.”

“You will not put me away or imprison me,” she declared. “My destiny lies elsewhere.”

“To be named a saint is the supreme honor. To serve in the footsteps of Tomias is the greatest calling.”

“But I am not called from within,” she protested. “I will not lie and say that I am.”

“Thod has called
you.
And to his service you will go.” Theloi smiled at her while she stood silent with rage and frustration. “Already we have begun negotiations with Nether for the Chalice to be brought here.”

“They'll never surrender it.”

He frowned. “The Netherans are backward barbarians, unfit for the privilege of guarding the Chalice from harm. The fact that it has been lost for nearly twenty years is proof of their ineptitude.”

“It was not lost, only hidden,” she said tartly. “The king of Nether kept it safe—”

“Nonsense. That lie has been told to cover their bumbling, but the truth is known.”

“You forget, lord cardinal, that I have just returned from Nether and know the truth of these events,” she said. “As does King Verence.”

Theloi studied her a moment and raised his thin brows. “So you would dare threaten a cardinal, dare threaten the church. You have changed a great deal this past winter, my lady, or else Noncire was wrong when he said you were a spineless little creature, pretty, but of no benefit to the throne or the realm.”

The words hurt deeply, as they were meant to. Once, Pheresa's eyes would have filled with tears. Now she stared dry-eyed and stiff at this cruel little man, her face hot from his insult.

“Cardinal Noncire,” she said in a quiet, cold voice, “died in Gant, tortured by Nonkind evil. His judgment was less than sound in many areas. I do not think you should depend too much on the accuracy of his perceptions.”

“Well said,” Theloi acknowledged with a gesture. “
Perhaps you are not spineless after all. But you should not be queen, and you won't be.”

Pheresa lifted her chin. “That decision is not yours to make.”

“Ah, but there is the matter of Prince Gavril's lost soul—”

“That is cruel and beastly! The king will not bow to such extortion.”

“Take care, my lady,” Theloi said in a voice that made her fall silent. “You can go too far. I think I need not warn you that you do not want me for an enemy.”

She wanted to reply in kind, but prudence held her tongue. She was alone here, and Sir Brillon could carry her off bodily into the twilight to Batoine. Who would stop him, or realize what he was about? At that moment she wished with all her heart for a protector, someone she could trust. Realizing she had only her wits to save her, she told herself she'd better start using them.

“I—I agree that we grow too heated in our argument, lord cardinal,” she said at last, stammering a little as she fought to control herself. “Let us consider the situation more clearly.”