David Weber - How firm a foundation

He paused for a moment, and then, slowly, extended his thumb, as well.

“And five. By killing your father after he’d sent you and Daivyn out of Corisande to keep you safe, and by making sure your brother died at the same time, Clyntahn created a situation in which the legitimate heir to the throne of Corisande was a minor child, outside the princedom, and under the Church’s direct or indirect control. Daivyn’s exile from Corisande guaranteed the fragmented authority and legitimacy that led to the ‘Northern Conspiracy,’ Irys. It contributed directly to the bloodshed and executions in Corisande. And it left Daivyn conveniently parked where the Group of Four could make whatever future use of him seemed most valuable.”

He let his hand fall, and Irys sat, gazing at him silently. From her expression, he was confident he hadn’t told her anything which hadn’t already crossed her own mind. But still she sat looking at him, then cocked her head.

“That’s not proof, Phylyp. It’s a description of why it might have made sense to a man like Clyntahn to murder Father and Hektor. A very convincing description-I’ll grant that. And after watching what he did to the Wylsynn family and his other rivals in the vicarate, I’m certainly not prepared to argue that the fact that he’s a vicar of God would have slowed him down for a moment! The man’s a butcher, a tyrant, a murderer, and a monster.” The flat, almost emotionless detachment of her voice only made it even more terrible, Coris thought. “Yet none of that constitutes ‘proof’ he had Father and Hektor killed. I’m willing to admit it’s time to consider the possibility that Cayleb didn’t do it, but that’s a long way from deciding Clyntahn did.”

“Your father taught you well,” Coris said with a small, sad smile. “Always look for the other possibility, the less obvious one. Never decide something must be the truth simply because you want it to be.”

“Father also taught me never to trust anyone completely,” she said, looking into his eyes. “That was his very first rule, his most important single axiom. But he set it aside in your case, and I’m willing to do the same. Only I’m not prepared to accept that simply because I trust you, you have to be right.”

Coris’ heart swelled with pride as he looked at her, and he nodded.

“My God, what a queen you would have made,” he said softly. “Your father and I talked about that once. He hated Sharleyan, you know, though it wasn’t really personal. She was just… in the way, and he knew she’d never rest until she’d avenged her father’s death. But he admired her, too-deeply-and I think he’d seriously considered trying to change the law of succession in Corisande.” The earl shook his head with a smile. “Only he told me he’d decided against it because he didn’t think Safehold could survive you and Sharleyan at the same time unless you were both on the same side, and that wasn’t going to happen.”

Irys’ eyes softened and her mouth trembled ever so slightly, but then she shook her head and unfolded her arms to point a finger at him.

“No courtier’s tricks, Phylyp! You’re not going to distract me that easily. You said you had ‘strong suggestive evidence.’ Show it to me.”

“Of course.” Coris gave her a seated bow, then turned his head towards the closed library door. “Rhobair, Tobys!”

The door opened a moment later and Tobys Raimair and Coris’ valet, Rhobair Seablanket, walked through it. Seablanket was a thin man, with stooped shoulders and a long nose. His brown hair, touched with white, was beginning to thin, but the neatly trimmed beard he favored to hide the scar on his jaw was still dark and full. Irys had always thought he was one of the most lugubrious men she’d ever seen, and she’d never really warmed to him.

“I’m sure you recall my hiring Master Seablanket when we passed through Shwei on our way here,” Coris said, turning back to Irys as Seablanket and Raimair crossed the library and halted behind him. “I was fortunate to find a Corisandian suitable to my requirements that far from home, wasn’t I?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, yes,” she replied slowly. “And, if you’ll pardon my saying so, it seemed a little suspicious.” She looked across the earl’s shoulder at Seablanket. “It struck me that if someone wanted to plant a spy on you, that might’ve been one way to go about it. On the other hand, I’ve known you since I was a little girl. It seemed… unlikely that same possibility wouldn’t have occurred to you.”

“I’m afraid there are times even I can be a bit gullible and overly trusting,” Coris said with a sigh. “And this, alas, was one of them. In fact, Irys, Rhobair is an agent of the Inquisition.” He watched the young woman’s eyes widen in sudden alarm but continued unhurriedly. “He was, in fact, specifically assigned to worm his way into my employment by Wyllym Rayno himself. Unfortunately for Archbishop Wyllym, however, when Rhobair first entered the Grand Inquisitor’s personal service, he already had an employer… your father.”

Despite her formidable self-control, Irys’ jaw dropped. She stared at Coris for a moment, then whipped her eyes back to the valet, who suddenly looked much less lugubrious. In fact, he smiled at her, eyes touched by an amused light she’d never seen in them before, and bowed deeply.

“He worked for Father?! ” she more than half blurted.

“Exactly.” Coris shrugged. “It’s an interesting thing about the Inquisition, Irys. They plant spies and agents everywhere, and they’re very good at finding disaffected people to inform on others, yet until at least very recently, it never seems to have occurred to them that anyone else might plant spies on them. I think it has to do with the arrogance of power. They’re so busy dealing with all the things they’re doing to other people that they never consider the possibility of what other people might do to them. Or what steps those other people might take to protect themselves against the Inquisition’s spies. And they did make a minor recruiting error in Rhobair’s case.”

“They did?” she asked in a fascinated tone.

“Oh, indeed they did,” Coris practically purred, yet there was an odd, icy edge under his obvious satisfaction. “You see, Rhobair is a Corisandian, born and raised, but his mother was born in Harchong… where his grandfather was beaten to death on the very steps of his village church while the local inquisitor looked on. And his crime?” Coris looked into her eyes. “The squire beating him to death had wanted to bed his youngest daughter. She’d refused, he’d ignored her refusal, and her father had had the unspeakable temerity to protest his thirteen-year-old daughter’s rape. That daughter was Rhobair’s mother.”

Irys’ eyes flitted back to Seablanket and saw the truth as cold, bitter memory-and hate-quenched the humor which had flickered in his eyes.

“I won’t bother you with the details of how his mother and her two sisters managed to reach Corisande, Irys. That’s not really my story to tell, anyway. But they did get to Manchyr, eventually, where your grandfather employed all of them on the palace staff and she married one of his armsmen. So when Rhobair came to your father and told him he’d been approached by an inquisitor about becoming a spy inside your grandfather’s household, your father told him to agree.

“That was over thirty years ago. They soon realized what a prize he was and pulled him out of Corisande to use other places before I ever came into your father’s service. He became very valuable to them over the years-valuable enough that it took very little effort on his part to plant the notion that he be sent to Shwei to ‘infiltrate’ Daivyn’s court in exile. After all, he certainly knew enough about Corisande and about Corisandian politics to be perfect for the job. And he’d been a trusted agent of the Inquisition since long before I became your father’s spymaster, so even though he’d grown up in your grandfather’s palace, I wouldn’t recognize him when I saw him. It was, alas, childishly easy for him to worm himself into my confidence… and he’s been reporting exactly what I wanted him to report ever since.”