known you'd guess.”
Dear God, judicial combat. No quarter, no mercy. No verdict without a death…
“Rhian—”
Pushing out of her chair she dropped to one knee on the floor before him and took his suddenly cold hands in hers. “My love, I must. If it comes to it, I must. There is still some little hope that Helfred's stern warnings will bring Kyrin and Damwin to their senses, but…”
“Helfred's not his uncle,” he said. “He lacks Marlan's natural intimidation.”
“Perhaps.” She smiled again, wryly. “Although I think Helfred might surprise. Would God have chosen him if he weren't more than he seems?”
He let his thumb rub the back of her hand. “Rhian, I'm not comfortable with so much talk of God. Ethrea has managed well enough these past centuries without such heady divine interventions. I mistrust these signs and omens now.”
“Don't let Helfred hear you say so,” she told him. “I doubt he'd take it kindly, especially from a king. Besides, how can you doubt what happened? Like it or not, Alasdair, you were there. You saw Dexterity burn, the child return to life. Marlan. You heard Helfred chosen prolate.”
He pulled his hands free of her. “What I saw and heard, Rhian, and what those events mean have yet to be reconciled. All this talk of men chosen by God…you of all people should see where lies the danger! Let a man believe himself chosen of God and it seems to me all common sense flies out the window. Yes, and goodness too. Marlan—”
“Revealed himself Godless in the end,” she said sharply, standing. “He was a wicked man, and was harshly punished for his sins.”
“Rhian…” He stood too and did take her by the shoulders, not to shake her but to move her aside so he could pace out his fear and temper round the confines of the antechamber. “I never knew you to be so pious.”
“I'm not pious,” she protested. “But I can't deny what I've seen! I can't turn my back on what I've been told!”
“You've been told you're God's chosen,” he said, and felt his guts tighten with fright. “That's a heady brew, Rhian. Men thrice your age might well be thrown off stride.” He stopped pacing and faced her, let her see his fear for her writ plain in his eyes. “Do you think you're invincible? Do you think that because it seems you've been chosen to—”
“Seems?” Her chin came up and her eyes glinted, dangerously. “Are you doubting my part in this now, Alasdair?”
No. But I'm wishing some other princess had been chosen. “What I'm trying to say, my love, is that if you're not careful this choosing could lull you into over-confidence. Could beguile you into believing you're more than flesh and blood, that no harm can come to you no matter how you risk yourself. That you'd even think of fighting Damwin and Kyrin…Rollin's mercy, can you believe I'll stand by and watch you throw yourself onto their swords?”
Slowly she walked to him, and slowly she framed his face with her hands. Hands that were callused from the hilt of her knife and the hour upon hour she spent dancing Zandakar's hotas. Hands that only last night had—
“I believe you know I must end their defiance,” she said softly, distracting him. “Every day that passes without they bend their knee to my authority is a day that lends weight to the muttering of the ambassadors.”
He took her wrists and loosened her clasping hands. There was a dried bloodstain on the cuff of her silk shirt. Zandakar's oath. A pity he hadn't sworn it in heart's blood. “You can't make decisions based upon opinions held by men who have no sway here.”
“But they do have sway, Alasdair,” she insisted. “They talk amongst themselves, they strike bargains, sign treaties, shift alliances as their masters dictate. They have lives and purposes beyond our influence. They are men of power. And somehow I must convince them to defer to me. To follow my leadership against Mijak. What hope do I have of that if they see I can't
Dear God, judicial combat. No quarter, no mercy. No verdict without a death…
“Rhian—”
Pushing out of her chair she dropped to one knee on the floor before him and took his suddenly cold hands in hers. “My love, I must. If it comes to it, I must. There is still some little hope that Helfred's stern warnings will bring Kyrin and Damwin to their senses, but…”
“Helfred's not his uncle,” he said. “He lacks Marlan's natural intimidation.”
“Perhaps.” She smiled again, wryly. “Although I think Helfred might surprise. Would God have chosen him if he weren't more than he seems?”
He let his thumb rub the back of her hand. “Rhian, I'm not comfortable with so much talk of God. Ethrea has managed well enough these past centuries without such heady divine interventions. I mistrust these signs and omens now.”
“Don't let Helfred hear you say so,” she told him. “I doubt he'd take it kindly, especially from a king. Besides, how can you doubt what happened? Like it or not, Alasdair, you were there. You saw Dexterity burn, the child return to life. Marlan. You heard Helfred chosen prolate.”
He pulled his hands free of her. “What I saw and heard, Rhian, and what those events mean have yet to be reconciled. All this talk of men chosen by God…you of all people should see where lies the danger! Let a man believe himself chosen of God and it seems to me all common sense flies out the window. Yes, and goodness too. Marlan—”
“Revealed himself Godless in the end,” she said sharply, standing. “He was a wicked man, and was harshly punished for his sins.”
“Rhian…” He stood too and did take her by the shoulders, not to shake her but to move her aside so he could pace out his fear and temper round the confines of the antechamber. “I never knew you to be so pious.”
“I'm not pious,” she protested. “But I can't deny what I've seen! I can't turn my back on what I've been told!”
“You've been told you're God's chosen,” he said, and felt his guts tighten with fright. “That's a heady brew, Rhian. Men thrice your age might well be thrown off stride.” He stopped pacing and faced her, let her see his fear for her writ plain in his eyes. “Do you think you're invincible? Do you think that because it seems you've been chosen to—”
“Seems?” Her chin came up and her eyes glinted, dangerously. “Are you doubting my part in this now, Alasdair?”
No. But I'm wishing some other princess had been chosen. “What I'm trying to say, my love, is that if you're not careful this choosing could lull you into over-confidence. Could beguile you into believing you're more than flesh and blood, that no harm can come to you no matter how you risk yourself. That you'd even think of fighting Damwin and Kyrin…Rollin's mercy, can you believe I'll stand by and watch you throw yourself onto their swords?”
Slowly she walked to him, and slowly she framed his face with her hands. Hands that were callused from the hilt of her knife and the hour upon hour she spent dancing Zandakar's hotas. Hands that only last night had—
“I believe you know I must end their defiance,” she said softly, distracting him. “Every day that passes without they bend their knee to my authority is a day that lends weight to the muttering of the ambassadors.”
He took her wrists and loosened her clasping hands. There was a dried bloodstain on the cuff of her silk shirt. Zandakar's oath. A pity he hadn't sworn it in heart's blood. “You can't make decisions based upon opinions held by men who have no sway here.”
“But they do have sway, Alasdair,” she insisted. “They talk amongst themselves, they strike bargains, sign treaties, shift alliances as their masters dictate. They have lives and purposes beyond our influence. They are men of power. And somehow I must convince them to defer to me. To follow my leadership against Mijak. What hope do I have of that if they see I can't
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