David Weber - How firm a foundation

“That’s insane,” the Charisian Keeper of the Purse said, and Pine Hollow chuckled harshly.

“And you were of the opinion propaganda has to make sense to be effective? ”

“No, I suppose not,” Ironhill sighed.

“And what happened at Iythria-especially the destruction of the port-is going to play into their propaganda efforts, as well,” Sharleyan observed. “I’m not sure how, but no doubt they’ll figure out a way to suggest we’re about to do the same thing to the Republic -with Stohnar’s connivance!-for some nefarious reason of our own.”

“Probably,” Cayleb agreed. “And that being the case, what do we do?” He looked around the council table. “Suggestions, anyone?”

Royal Palace, City of Talkyra, Kingdom of Delferahk; Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis; and HMS Destiny, 54, Thol Bay, Kingdom of Tarot

“What is it, Phylyp?” Irys Daykyn asked, looking up from the flowers she’d been arranging to greet the Earl of Coris with a welcoming smile as he entered the library.

Spring was coming on apace, and the early-season wildflowers crowning the hills around the castle above Lake Erdan reminded her-fleetingly-of the brilliant blossoms of her homeland. They were a pallid substitute, yet they echoed at least the ghost of Corisande, and she’d spent several hours collecting them that morning, escorted by Tobys Raimair and one of his men. She’d been arranging them ever since, and singing softly-something she seldom did, since her father’s death-as she worked.

Phylyp Ahzgood knew that, which was one of the reasons he hated having to disturb her… especially with this.

“I’m afraid something’s come up, Irys,” he said. “Something we need to talk about.”

Her smile faded as his tone registered. She laid the flowers on the table beside the trio of vases she’d been filling and wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her gown.

“What is it?” she repeated in a very different tone.

“Sit down,” he invited, pointing at one of the well-upholstered but worn-looking chairs. “This may take a while.”

“Why?” she asked, sitting in the indicated chair and watching him with intent hazel eyes as he turned another chair backwards and sat straddling it, forearms propped on the top of its back.

“Because we have to discuss something we’ve both been avoiding,” he said gravely. “Something you’ve been dancing around, and that I’ve let you dance around.”

“That sounds ominous.” Her effort to inject a light note into her voice failed, and she folded her arms across her chest. “But in that case, I imagine the best way to do this will be for you to come straight to the point,” she said.

In that moment, she looked very like her father, Coris thought. She had her mother’s eyes and high yet delicate cheekbones, but that hair came straight from her father, and so did the strong chin-softened, thank God, into a more feminine version in her case. And the look in those eyes came from Hektor Daykyn, as well. It was the look Hektor had worn when the time came to set aside theories and nuanced understandings. When it was time to make decisions by which men lived or died. It grieved Coris, in many ways, to see that look in Irys’ eyes, but it was a vast relief, as well.

“All right, I will come to the point,” he replied, and inhaled deeply.

“Irys, I know you blamed Cayleb Ahrmahk for your father’s death. We haven’t discussed it in some time, but it’s seemed to me your confidence that he was responsible for it may have… waned a bit over the past year or so.”

He paused, one eyebrow arched. After a moment, she nodded ever so slightly.

“I’ve… entertained the possibility that there could be other explanations.”

“I thought that was what was happening,” Coris said. “I haven’t pushed you on it, for a lot of reasons, but one of them, frankly, was that if my suspicions were correct, then having you publicly and vocally suspicious of Cayleb was your best protection. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like it was protection enough.”

“What do you mean?”

Those eyes were even more like her father’s, and he sighed.

“Irys, Cayleb and Sharleyan of Charis didn’t have your father murdered. Zhaspahr Clyntahn did.”

For a moment, her expression didn’t even flicker. Then her eyes widened, less in disbelief than in surprise at the flat confidence in his tone, he thought. She looked at him in silence, and then it was her turn to draw a deep, slightly shaky breath and sit back in her chair.

“You have proof of that?”

“Proof that he personally ordered your father’s assassination, no,” Coris admitted. “Very strong suggestive evidence that he planned it, yes.”

“What sort of evidence?” she asked in a cold, dispassionate voice which had no business coming from a young woman who wouldn’t be twenty years old for another month yet.

“First, let’s think about his possible motives for doing something like that,” Coris responded. “Your father was losing, Irys. No, he wasn’t losing; he’d lost, and he knew he had. I wasn’t there, because he’d sent me away with you and Daivyn, but I have reports from trustworthy agents which all confirm Cayleb and Earl Anvil Rock are telling the truth when they say Prince Hektor had contacted Cayleb to open surrender negotiations. I’m not going to tell you Cayleb of Charis is a saint, because I don’t really believe in saints. And I won’t argue that your father wouldn’t still be alive today if Cayleb hadn’t invaded Corisande, since that almost certainly created the circumstances which led to his murder. But I will tell you Cayleb Ahrmahk was about to get everything he’d invaded to get, and that he’s clearly smart enough to know that killing your father in that fashion at that time would have been the worst, stupidest thing he could possibly have done.

“But the things that would have made it stupid from Cayleb’s perspective would all have been positive outcomes from Clyntahn’s viewpoint.”

Coris held up his index finger.

“One. If your father had reached an accommodation with Cayleb, even if he’d planned on denouncing it as non-binding at the first opportunity, since any promises would have been made to an excommunicate, it would have made him another Nahrmahn in Clyntahn’s view. That would have been enough by itself to drive him into a frenzy but there was even worse from his perspective. The way he would have seen it, it wouldn’t simply have been a case of the prince the Group of Four had anointed as Mother Church’s champion against the ‘Charisian blasphemer’ cutting a deal with the blasphemer in question to save his own crown, it would have encouraged others to do exactly the same thing.”

He extended the second finger of the same hand.

“Two. If your father reached an accommodation with Cayleb and decided, for whatever reason, that he had no choice but to abide by it, Charis’ conquest-or control, at least-of Corisande would have been enormously simplified.”

He extended his third finger.

“Three. If Cayleb assassinated your father, however, or if someone else did and Cayleb simply ended up blamed for it, then instead of becoming another traitor to the Group of Four and another example of someone reaching an accommodation with Charis, your father became a martyr of Mother Church.”

His fourth finger rose.

“Four. Your father may not have been much beloved outside Corisande, but he was remarkably popular with his own subjects. If Cayleb had him murdered, it would arouse intense resentment among those subjects. That would lead to unrest, which would require substantial numbers of Charisian troops to suppress, and that would almost certainly lead to incidents between those troops and the people of Corisande, which would only strengthen your people’s resentment and anger. Violent confrontations and incidents would increase, bloodshed would rise, and Corisande would become a sinkhole for the Charisian military resources that would be tied down there and not available for use against the Group of Four anywhere else. Of course, hundreds or even thousands of Corisandians would have been killed in the process, but from Clyntahn’s perspective that would simply have been the cost of doing business.”