“Have the riots crossed into High Town?”
Hubert dipped his chin while he pretended to listen to Lord Gherova’s speech. “Just before daybreak a small mob breached the cordon of night watchmen along the Processional. Some homes were vandalized. No one was seriously injured, but fear is spreading.”
It’s already arrived here. Now what shall I do? Unleash more soldiers into the streets? Withdraw until it blows over? She wished she knew. Whatever choice she made, there would be repercussions.
While she stewed, Lord Gherova finished his speech, or so she thought. She watched in dismay as he picked up another scroll and began to unroll it. Josey had heard enough. Her city was tearing itself apart, and this man wanted to ramble about distant problems.
“Please, my lord,” she said. “A moment’s pause.”
The minister regarded her with a jaundiced gaze and then took his seat. Josey looked to Hubert, but he did not move.
“Coward,” she said under her breath. Then, raising her voice, she said, “We have decided the war in the east to be a wasteful extravagance perpetrated by misplaced zeal, and ultimately unnecessary when more important problems plague us here at home.”
Several of the ministers grumbled at this, but their reactions were no surprise to her. The only lords who had deigned to attend today’s audience were the ones most opposed to her rule. Only one person, Lord Du’Quendel, applauded at her words.
“Emissaries,” she said, “bearing our wishes for peace between our lands, shall be dispatched with all haste.”
“That would be a grave error, Your Majesty.”
Josey looked to the main entrance, half expecting Duke Mormaer. Instead, a portly man in pristine white robes stood in the hall’s doorway. Josey started to rise at the sight of him out of long-ingrained habit until Hubert caught her eye and gave a slight shake of his head. The empress did not rise, not even in the presence of the prelate of the True Church.
The holy father entered the hall wearing the full regalia of his office. Josey recognized the emblems from her catechism. The golden staff in the prelate’s hand and gold-linked rope around his neck represented the sacred gallows from which the Prophet was hung. Upon his head rested a crown of sharp golden points. The rod, rope, and the sunburst crown-the icons that stood at the foundation of the True Faith.
The new prelate was younger than she expected; his hair was only just beginning to lighten to silver. Though his vestments were simple, their costliness was evident in the cut and lay of the fabric, fine linen with gold and silk stitching. Beyond his luxurious attire and trappings, the prelate didn’t strike her as a particularly impressive figure. But as he approached, Josey shifted in her seat under the arresting gaze of his cobalt eyes.
Four hierarchs of the Church and an equal number of underpriests, resplendent in scintillating white robes, surrounded the prelate. Lady Philomena walked beside His Holiness to the center of the hall, where she left to take her seat with the other ministers. One hierarch approached the foot of the dais. Josey recognized him by his slick black hair and hooked nose. Hubert had warned her about Archpriest Gaspar, the prelate’s mouthpiece.
The archpriest inclined his head. “I present His Luminance, Innocence the First, Patriarch of the True Faith, Supreme Servant of the Light.”
Josey didn’t know what they expected her to do. Bow to the man? Grovel at his feet? She remained in her throne and tried to present a calm face, but inside she seethed. Just the sight of the man made her relive the harrowing days when she and Caim had been hunted by the Church’s minions. She would never trust them again. Hubert saved her by stepping forward.
“The empress greets you, Prelate Innocence. We received no word that Your Luminance would be attending court this day.”
“His Illustrious Radiance-”
The prelate held up a finger, and the nuncio fell silent. Innocence cast a beatific smile at Josey.
“Daughter, I have come this day to forge a new relationship between this body and the True Church of the Holy Prophet.”
Josey cleared her throat and tried to hold back her indignation. “You said something as you entered, Luminance.”
“Yes, Daughter. It would be unwise to make overtures of peace to the godless heathens of the east.” His gaze slid to Hubert. “I would caution you not to be guided by the artifices of the Horned One, but to cleave unto the Church as a wife to a husband. Only in this way shall you find the wisdom you seek.”
Josey didn’t know whether to be offended or disgusted by his words. Hubert held his hands by his sides, but Josey could see he was agitated, too.
“I beg Your Holiness’s pardon,” she said, “but the empire faces dire threats here at home. The continuation of the war in the east is no longer possible.”
“All things,” the prelate intoned,” are possible through the Light, Daughter.”
Josey wanted to retch. “What does the Light say about the thousands of young men who have died overseas and will never see their homeland again?”
Prelate Innocence regarded her with an expression partway between contempt and amusement. “Sacrifices made in the name of the Almighty are never in vain. We urge you to pray, Daughter, as the faithful pray for the salvation of your eternal soul.”
Josey felt the first strains of an oncoming headache. A fantasy had begun in her imagination, of this flawlessly clean prelate being dipped by his ankles into a vat of pig feces. It brought a smile to her lips, but she missed part of the lecture.
“-people are up in arms,” the prelate said. “They decry the scandalous way the True Church has been shut out from its rightful place as the spiritual sovereign of this nation.”
Hubert opened his mouth, but this time Josey didn’t give him the chance. This was too much.
“The Church,” she said, pitching her words loud enough to be heard throughout the chamber, “does not rule any longer.”
If he was embarrassed by her admonishment, the prelate did not show it. “Daughter, if you do not-”
“Your Majesty.”
Prelate Innocence blinked. “Pardon?”
“You will,” she said, more firmly, “address us as Your Majesty, or Your Highness.”
The prelate held her gaze for a long moment. Once, perhaps, she might have bowed before that penetrating stare, but she was not a child anymore. She was the mother of a nation and she would receive her due respect.
After what seemed like ages, the holy man dipped his head a fraction of an inch. “Yes, Majesty. Have I your leave to continue?”
“You do, Your Holiness.”
“If Your Majesty does not heed the advice of the Church, this city will tear itself asunder.”
That sounds suspiciously like a threat. Be careful, Innocence, lest your visage of impartiality slip away entirely.
“What does Your Holiness suggest?” Hubert asked.
Josey could have kicked her lord chancellor, but she understood the game he was playing. Placate the Church by pretending to consider its position, but continue doing what needed to be done.
“First,” the prelate said, “the holy war must not be halted, not for a single day. In fact, new efforts must be made to bring the pagans of the east to the Light. Only in this way can the blessings of the Almighty be restored to the nation.”
Josey ground her teeth together until she thought they might shatter.
“Second, the empress must subjugate herself before the Church. Publicly.”
Josey almost jumped to her feet at those words, but Hubert glanced back with a soothing expression. Her nails dug into the wood of the throne’s arms. Why not request that I parade down the Processional naked and prostrate myself before the cathedral doors?
“Third, an army must be sent north.”
Josey perked up at that pronouncement. She tried not to give away her sudden interest, but it was difficult. Fortunately, the prelate explained himself before she needed to ask.
