must see the ramifications.
“I would speak to you privately after this day’s meeting is concluded, Marshal,” the Torunnan king said at last.
Markus bowed slightly, but not before Abeleyn had caught the gleam of triumph in his eye.
“T HE damn fool!” Mark raged. “Can’t he see what he is doing? The Fimbrians will put a leash about his throat and lead him around like a dog.”
“He is in a tight corner,” Abeleyn said, sipping his wine and rolling a black olive round and round the table to catch the sunlight. “He has been baulked of his reinforcements by the Church, so he must have men from somewhere. The Fimbrian intelligence service must be quite efficient. The timing of this offer is perfect.”
“Do you think they hanker after empire again?”
“Of course. What else could have persuaded the electorates to cease their internal strife? My ploy of bringing the Narbukan envoy here has fallen flatter than a pricked bladder. It is strange. Golophin must have suspected that there was something afoot in Fimbria, for it was he who advised me to sound out the electorates. I do not think he imagined this, though, not in his wildest dreams.”
“Or nightmares. Our alliance looks like pretty small beer compared with this news.”
“On the contrary, Mark. It is more important than ever. Cadamost has come to some secret arrangement with the marshals, of that I am sure. They accepted his invitation, not mine. And Torunna needs troops. How does one get to Torunna from Fimbria? Via Perigraine! Cadamost has been playing a very deep game. Who would have believed him capable of that?”
They were seated at a roadside tavern in one of the main thoroughfares of the city. Waggons and carts trundled past unendingly, and around them was the red-gold shade of the turning trees, avenues of which lined almost every street in Vol Ephrir. Scarlet and amber leaves dotted the ground like a crunching carpet, and there was a cool breeze blowing. If they looked up, past the well-constructed buildings on the other side of the street, they could see the palace towers of Vol Ephrir shining white with marble. Abeleyn raised his glass to them and drank. It was Candelarian. Fully half of Candelaria’s exports were to Perigraine.
“We must speak with Lofantyr,” Abeleyn said. “He must be made to see what he is doing. We will not dissuade him from utilizing Fimbrian troops, but he must at least be frugal in their deployment. One good thing about this: it has secured his independence from the Church, and it may ensure the recognition of Macrobius as Pontiff once again. Lofantyr will back him all the way. He has nothing to lose and much to gain from a Pontiff who might well become a Torunnan puppet.”
“If Himerius steps down,” Mark said sombrely.
“A very interesting if, cousin. Who would support him if he did not? Almark, of course, and Finnmark—most of the Border Duchies.”
“Peregraine, maybe.”
“Maybe. I am all at sea when thinking of this kingdom. Cadamost has rattled me—most unpleasant.”
A third person joined them at their table, appearing out of the throng of people who coursed up and down the street. She bowed to both kings and then drank some wine from Abeleyn’s glass.
“My lady Jemilla,” the Hebrian monarch said easily. “I trust you have been enjoying your trip about the city?”
“It is a wonderous place, sire, so different from our crowded old Abrusio. Like something from one of the old courtly tales.”
“You look pale. Are you well?”
Jemilla was wearing a loose robe of deep scarlet encrusted with pearls and gold thread. Her dark hair was bound up on her head with more pearl-headed pins, and her face was as white as sea-scoured bone.
“Quite well, sire. I am a little tired, perhaps.”
Mark ignored her. He had been rather scandalized by Abeleyn’s bringing her to the conclave, especially since the Hebrian king was officially, if secretly, betrothed to his sister.
“You should keep out of the sun. It is very bright on the eye in this part of the world. There is no dust to blunt its passage.”
“I am waiting for my barouche, sire. Will you walk me to the corner? My maids seem to have deserted me for the moment.”
“By all means, my lady. Cousin, you will await my return?”
Mark flapped a hand affably enough and buried his nose in his glass.
“He doesn’t like me,” Jemilla said when they were out of earshot.
“He is attracted to you, but Mark is an austere sort of fellow at times. He loves his wife, and is prone to guilt.”
“You and he behave like a pair of ‘prentice ensigns out on the town. Have you no attendants with you?”
Abeleyn laughed. “My bodyguards—and Mark’s—are very discreet, and Cadamost no doubt has people watching us also. You need not fear for my safety in Vol Ephrir. If anything happened here it would reflect badly on Perigraine’s king.”
Jemilla leaned on his arm. She was walking more slowly than her usual brisk pace.
“Is anything the matter, my lady?”
She leaned close to him, spoke into his ear.
“I am with child.”
They halted in the street, curious folk glancing at the pair as they passed by.
“Are you sure?” Abeleyn asked in a voice gone toneless and cold.
“Yes, sire. It is yours. There has been no one else in the time we have been together.”
Abeleyn stared at her. The bright sunlight brought out the lines at the corners of her eyes, accentuated the whiteness of her skin, the shadows under her cheekbones.
“You are not well, lady,” he murmured.
“I can keep nothing down. It is a passing thing.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“My maid will have guessed.” Jemilla caressed her stomach through the thick, loose robe. “It is hardly noticeable as yet, but my flow has been—”
“All right, all right! I don’t want to hear about your woman’s mechanisms!” Like most men, Abeleyn knew little and cared less about that particular subject. It was bad luck to couple with a woman at that time, an offence against God. That was as far as he cared to enquire.
“You’re sure it’s mine, Jemilla?” he demanded in a low voice, taking her by the arms.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Yes, sire.” She bent her head and began to sob quietly.
“Saint’s teeth! Where is that blasted cart? Dry your eyes, woman, for God’s sake!”
The covered carriage came trundling along the street and Abeleyn hailed it.
“Will you be all right?” he asked as he helped her inside. He had never seen her weep before and it disconcerted him.
“Yes, sire, I will be fine. But I cannot—I cannot perform the same services that I have undertaken up until now.”
Abeleyn coloured. “Never mind that. We’ll get you back to Hebrion by sea. You won’t be climbing the Malvennors in your state. There are a few things I must arrange. You will be looked after, Jemilla.”
“Sire, I have to say—I want to keep this child. I will not have it . . . disposed of.”
Abeleyn stiffened. For a second he bore an uncanny resemblance to his severe, rigidly pious father.
“That is one notion that never entered my mind, Jemilla. As I said, you will be looked after, and the child also.”
“Thank you, sire. I never doubted it.”
He closed the door and the carriage sped away to the palace where she had a suite of her own. He followed its departure with a grim set to his mouth.
A bastard child, and not by some strumpet either. By a lady from a noble house. That could cause problems. He would have to be careful.
“Anything wrong?” Mark asked when Abeleyn rejoined him.
“No. Women’s inquisitiveness. I sent her on her way.”
“A handsome woman, if rather on the mature side.”
