'I doubt there will ever be more to say,' Braumin replied. 'I will be too busy with the construction of the chapel of Avelyn in Caer Tinella and with the expansion of St. Precious.'
There it was, laid out clearly and simply.
Duke Kalas sat very still for a long while, digesting all of the information, sipping his drink, then swallowing it suddenly in one great gulp. He threw the glass against the wall, shattering it, and rose up so forcefully that the heavy locker skidded back a few inches.
'You have heard of the word 'extortion'? ' he asked.
'You have heard of the word 'polities'? ' Braumin came right back.
Kalas reached back and above him and tore the sword from the wall, bringing it out before him. 'Perhaps a personal meeting with your God will teach you the difference between the two,' he started to say, but he stopped, staring curiously, as Abbot Braumin presented his hand forward, palm up, revealing a small dark stone, a graphite, humming with power.
'Shall we see which of us God chooses to take and instruct this day? ' he asked, a wry, confident smile on his face; though in truth, his guts were chuming. Braumin Herde had never been a warrior, nor was he overproficient with the gemstones. With his graphite, he could bring forth a small bolt of lightning, but he doubted it would do more than slow fierce Kalas for a few moments, and perhaps straighten a bit of the curly black hair on the man's head.
But still, Braumin was not surprised by this sudden turn, not at all. His quiet accusation against Kalas was no minor thing, after all!
And so he was ready for this moment, had prepared himself extensively, and he stood perfectly still, hand up firm.
'You play dangerous games, Abbot Braumin.'
'Not so, Duke Kalas,' Braumin replied. 'We each use whatever means we must to further that cause in which we believe. The revelation of a supposed dark secret, perhaps, or a battle on a foggy morning.'
'And what cause will you further? ' Kalas spat.
'St. Precious will be expanded,' the monk replied. He lowered his hand as Kalas lowered his sword.
'That is all?'
'That is all.' Braumin Herde didn't add 'for now,' but he saw from Kalas' sour expression that the Duke understood the implication well enough. Abbot Braumin had a heavy sword now, hanging in the air above the head of Duke Targon Bree Kalas, and Kalas' own inability to dismiss the hints as preposterous were all the proof that Braumin needed to know that what Dellman suspected was true: Duke Kalas of Wester-Honce, perhaps the closest adviser in all the world to King Danube Brock Ursal himself, had utilized powries, wretched bloody caps, in his quest to strengthen the power of the Throne in Palmaris.
Abbot Braumin's step as he exited Chasewind Manor soon after wassurprisingly to him-not as boisterous as the ones that had brought him to the place, though he had the signed approval for St. Precious' expansion tucked safely under one arm. No, Braumin found the whole business of coercing Duke Kalas a most distasteful affair, and he prayed that he would never, ever have to repeat it.
But he would visit the man again, if need be, the abbot assured himself. His life had purpose and a direct path, and he swore then on the soul of Master Jojonah-his mentor, his dearest friend-that he would continue the good fight.
'Lady Pemblebury approaches,' the sentry in the hall announced.
Abbot Je'howith crinkled his old face at the proclamation, but King Danube couldn't hold back a smile.
'You have not made the open declaration yet,' Je'howith reminded him. 'Whispers speak that the coming child is yours, of course, but word has not been sent, nor has your decision concerning the status of the child.'
'I did not know that anything was required of me,' Danube replied sarcastically, for he was the king, after all, and his word, whatever that word might be, was law in Honce-the-Bear.
' I only wonder what your brother might come to think if those whispers reach his ears,' Je'howith said; and that did indeed give Danube pause. 'The new Father Abbot is of Vanguard, and a friend to Midalis. It seems likely that the region will be more closely tied to the rest of the kingdom now, with Agronguerre leading the Church.'
'And perhaps those of your Church are not well versed in discretion,' Danube retorted.
'The only brother who returned to Vanguard from the College of Abbots was young Dellman, no friend of mine, I assure you,' Je'howith came back. ' If Brother Dellman has brought news of Constance Pemblebury's condition, then he learned it from someone else.'
'The same Dellman from Palmaris? ' King Danube asked, for he remembered well Braumin Herde and his little group of imprisoned companions.
Je'howith nodded.
'The same Dellman who is friend to Jilseponie? ' King Danube asked.
Abbot Je'howith raised an eyebrow at that and at the way Danube spoke the woman's name. Apparently, that little spark Je'howith and others had seen up in Palmaris continued to burn. Constance, beginning her eighth month of pregnancy, would not enjoy the sight of that simmering flame.
Constance Pemblebury entered the room then, waddling more than walking, one hand supporting her lower back. Her look was not one of a woman in pain, though, but of a woman fulfilled and in bliss.
King Danube went to her immediately and brushed aside her attendant, taking her by the arm and guiding her to a seat in the audience room's only chair: the throne.
How ironic, old Je'howith mused.
'You do realize, my King,' the old monk said, grinning wryly, 'that the Church must openly frown on our monarch producing a bastard child.'
King Danube turned and scowled at Je'howith, but Constance laughed. 'How unprecedented!' she said with complete sarcasm, and then she groaned and winced.
Danube turned to her immediately, feeling her swollen belly, putting a gentle hand to her forehead. 'Are you all right? ' he asked.
Je'howith studied the man, his movements, and the tone of his voice. Gentle, but not loving. He did care for Constance, but Abbot Je'howith recognized at that moment that Danube would not likely marry the woman, not while images of the fair Jilseponie danced in his head.
Constance assured him that she was feeling quite well, and Je'howith seconded that sentiment, guiding the doting Danube away from her. 'She has two months yet to go,' the old abbot reminded him.
'And then comes our child,' Constance remarked.
'My son,' Danube agreed, and again Constance beamed.
To hear Danube speaking of the child with such obvious pride fostered her hopes, Je'howith realized. And what of those hopes? the cleric wondered. What course would King Danube take once the child, his son, was born? Would he employ the Denial of Privilege, as they had discussed, or would he be so overwhelmed by the birth of this child that he would accept it openly?
Wouldn't Prince Midalis be thrilled if that came to pass!
Je'howith couldn't contain a chuckle, though when Danube and Constance looked at him, he merely shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. In truth, the old abbot hardly cared which way King Danube chose to go concerning the child. Certainly, if he did not disavow the child's bloodline rights, the kingdom could be in for a difficult and messy transition, but that would not likely afreet Je'howith, who would probably be long dead by that time. And if King Danube did openly accept the child, keeping the babe, and thus, Constance, at his side, then the possibility of Jilseponie ever getting close toJe'howith's beloved Ursal seemed even more remote.
In either case, this situation could be getting all the more interesting in about two months' time.
Abbot Je'howith fought hard to contain another chuckle.
Abbot Braumin was surprised and quite pleased to see the visitor to St. Precious that day. He was a handsome man of about Braumin's age, with a slender but hardened frame and alert dark eyes that took in every detail of the room about him. He was a military man, obviously, trained in readiness.
The snows had continued heavy that winter, but word had come to Abbot Braumin that Duke Kalas had left Chasewind Manor, and the city altogether, for a trip to the south. And now this, an old friend, the return of a good man who had shared some very important moments in Braumin Herde's life. Yes, the year was off to a grand start.
'Shamus Kilronney,' the abbot greeted him warmly. 'I heard that you had resigned your post in the Kingsmen
