Azoun’s chin. “Enjoy.”
Azoun had no choice but to accept the loathsome thing. As he began to nibble at it, the queen flashed a smile to Raynaar Marliir, signaling him to come forward. The king groaned inwardly, though he knew there was no avoiding this moment. He had heard that Marliir had put together an odd coalition of nobles, War Wizards, and high priests who wished to discuss “the destiny of the realm.” Though he suspected they were less interested in discussing destiny than dictating it-specifically that of the crown princess-he would have to listen politely. The loyalty of the Marliir family was his strongest bulwark against Arabel’s disagreeable habit of rebelling at the kingdom’s most trying moments.
Azoun ran his tongue over his teeth to cleanse them of liverpaste, then smiled as broadly as he could. “Duke Marliir, how good to see you again. I trust Lady Marliir is feeling better.”
“Sadly no,” Raynaar answered curtly. “She is still bedridden with ague, or else she would certainly be in attendance today.”
They had exchanged similar greetings on each of the previous four days. After Tanalasta’s rejection of Dauneth, Merelda Marliir had fallen ghastly ill and asked the royal party to depart her home for the sake of its own health. Knowing he might well have to return to crush a revolt if he left so soon after the stir Tanalasta had caused, Azoun had seized on the northern blight as an excuse to remain another tenday, imposing on his Lord Governor, Myrmeen Lhal, to house the royal party in the city palace. He had then invited all the local notables to an extravagant state dinner. They had responded with a chain of increasingly exotic liverpaste receptions that would, he was quite certain, be the end of him. Of course, Lady Marliir had been too ill to attend any of the events, and Azoun was quite certain she would continue to be ill until a day or two after he left.
Azoun allowed Marliir’s response to hang in the air long enough for everyone present to be certain he knew the truth, then said, “Tell her that I certainly hope she feels better soon.”
Marliir cocked an eyebrow at the lack of a “please,” then turned to gesture at his odd gathering of supporters. “I am sure Your Majesty knows these good people: Lady Kraliqh, Merula the Marvelous, and Daramos the High, of the Lady’s House here in Arabel.”
“Of course.”
Azoun smiled at each in turn: the grave-looking Lady Kraliqh, the rotund Merula, and the zealot-eyed Daramos. Of the three, he knew the most about Daramos Lauthyr. The man was a fanatic, almost as dedicated to the glory of his goddess Tymora as he was to establishing a central church in Arabel, with himself as its divinely- ordained patriarch.
Azoun took the platter from his wife’s hand, then held it out to Marliir’s odd coalition. “Liverpaste, anyone? They’re quail.”
The offer seemed to disarm the four. They exchanged a flurry of startled frowns, then Duke Marliir snatched a wafer off the plate, and the other three followed suit. Unfortunately, there was one left. Azoun pushed it toward Filfaeril.
“Canape, my dear?”
She smiled at him adoringly, then took the plate from his hand and passed him the wafer. “No, you can have it, my dear. I’ll go and fetch more.”
Azoun accepted the wafer and tried not to make a sour face as he bit into it. “Lovely, aren’t they?”
“Quite,” said Duke Marliir. “Your Majesty, there is something of great import we must discuss.”
“Really?” Azoun swallowed, then asked, “What can that be? If you are worried about this blight, I assure you the War Wizards have the matter well in hand.”
“The blight is only a part of it,” said Lady Kraliqh. According to Azoun’s spies, her dealings with Duke Marliir were seldom limited to matters of business. “We are concerned more with the future of the crown.”
“The future of the crown?” Azoun feigned a surprised look, but took note of the lady’s no-nonsense tone. She would not be put off easily with platitudes or vague promises, and he decided not to try. “You are speaking of Tanalasta, then.”
“We are concerned about her refusal to take a husband,” said Marliir. “Matters between her and Dauneth seemed to be progressing nicely. There must be some reason she chose to dismiss him so out of hand. It was embarrassing, really.”
“I am the cause of that confusion, Lord Marliir,” said Azoun. “I am so fond of Dauneth myself that others may have misinterpreted my affection when I asked him to escort Tanalasta to the party. I apologize for any embarrassment it caused, and I want everyone in Arabel to know I hold him in the highest regard. In fact, I was thinking of naming him Lord High Warden of the North.” Azoun turned to Duke Marliir. “Do you think he would have time for the extra duties?”
Marliir’s jaw dropped. “Of-of course.”
“Good.” Azoun could see by the man’s astonished expression that he had won back the loyalty of the entire Marliir clan. “Have him stop by the Arabellan Palace tomorrow, and we shall discuss the arrangements.”
“That is very nice for Dauneth,” said Lady Kraliqh, “but it still does not address our concerns about the future of the crown. After all, I know that when a woman reaches a certain age, it grows difficult for her to bear children.”
“Truly? Then you must look very young for your age-and Tanalasta is even younger than you appear. I doubt there is any need to worry about her ability to provide an heir when she has not even tried yet… or if she has, she has not seen fit to tell her father about it!”
Azoun winked as he said this last, drawing a raucous chuckle from everyone but Lady Kraliqh. He looked away, trying to catch the eye of some other notable before his growing irritation with the woman got the best of him.
“If that is all you are worried about,” the king continued, “I believe I see-“
“There is another matter, Majesty,” interrupted Merula. The wizard did not wait for an acknowledgement before continuing. “This unfortunate business of the Royal Temple. Perhaps the princess has not given thought to the question of where the loyalties of her royal priests might lie. A servant with two masters cannot help having divided loyalties.”
“And yet the realm might benefit immensely by courting the blessing of the gods,” said Daramos. “Tymora has always shown great favor to Cormyr. Had she not taken refuge here during the Time of Troubles, surely the realm would have suffered more than it did.”
“No one can argue that her presence proved a blessing,” agreed Azoun, “but I hardly think that calls for a royal temple.”
The veins in Daramos’s eyes grew as wide as string, and before Azoun could finish what he had been about to say, the high priest burst into a fit of righteous indignation.
“After the kindness Tymora showed your kingdom, you would insult her by establishing a royal temple to Chauntea instead?” Daramos backed away, his face trembling and turning crimson with a zealot’s rage. “Do not anger the Lady, little king! Fortune has two faces, and only one is pretty.”
The threat silenced the reception almost instantly, and a trio of bodyguards stepped forward to flank the high priest.
“This is what I was talking about, Majesty,” said Merula. As the wizard spoke, he was returning a small glass rod to the sleeve pocket inside his cloak. Apparently, he had feared for a moment that Daramos was actually deranged enough to attack the king. “Priests cannot be trusted. They must beg their spells from their gods, and so they always serve at the pleasure of those fields masters.”
“We thank you for your opinion, Merula.” Silently, Azoun cursed Daramos’s outburst, and wondered just how obsessed the man was. Because of the goddess Tymora’s stay during the Time of Troubles, the Lady’s House had almost as much power in Arabel as did his own governing lord, and it simply would not do to have Daramos Lauthyr angry-not unless Azoun wanted to crush another Arabellan revolt. He waved the guards back, then said, “The Lord High Priest’s point is well taken. Though the princess and I have had little time to discuss the matter, there will be no royal temple in Cormyr-to Chauntea or anyone else.”
The redness began to drain from Daramos’s face, but the man looked far from calm. “Of course you are right about the other gods, Majesty, but Tymora has blessed the Obarskyrs for more than a thousand years.”
“Which is why I would never dishonor her by establishing a royal temple,” said Azoun.
Daramos looked confused. “Dishonor her?”
“Tymora took refuge here in Arabel during the Time of Troubles, but the capital of Cormyr is Suzail,” Azoun
