David Weber - How firm a foundation

None of that had made him a bad father. Oh, she could see now how the time he’d invested in his machinations had been stolen from his family. Was that one of the reasons her older brother had been such a disappointment to him? Because he’d been too busy building his realm to spend enough time in teaching the boy who would someday inherit it to be the man capable of ruling it? Perhaps he’d spent so much more time with Irys because she was his daughter, and fathers doted on daughters. Or perhaps because she reminded him so much of her mother. Or perhaps simply because she was his firstborn, the child given to him before ambition had narrowed his horizons so sharply.

She’d never know about that, either. Not now. Yet she believed he’d truly done his best for his children. It might not have been exactly what they needed from him, but it had been the very best he could give them, and she would never question his love for her or her love for him.

Yet she’d come to the conclusion that she dared not allow love to blind her any longer. The world was a larger, and a more complex, and an infinitely more dangerous place than even she had realized, and if she and her brother-her rightful prince, despite his youth-were to survive in it, she could cling to no illusions about who might be her enemies, who might claim to be her friends, and why. She knew Phylyp Ahzgood, the man her father had chosen as his children’s guardian and adviser, had always seen the world-and her father-more clearly than she. And she suspected he’d been trying as gently as possible to train her eyes to see as his did.

I’ll try, Phylyp, she thought now as the first heavy raindrops pattered against the stonework and splashed her cheeks. I’ll try. I only hope we have the time for me to learn your lessons.

“Is she hanging out the window again, Tobys?” Phylyp Ahzgood, the Earl of `Coris, asked wryly.

“Couldn’t say as how she’s hanging out the window, My Lord,” Tobys Raimair replied in a judicious tone. He stroked his walrus mustache thoughtfully, bald head gleaming in the lamplight. “Might be she’s closed it by now. Might be she hasn’t, too.” He shrugged. “Girl misses the weather, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

“I know she does,” Coris said, and smiled sadly. “You should’ve seen her in Corisande, Tobys. I swear she spent every minute she could on horseback somewhere. Either that, or sailing in the bay. It used to drive Prince Hektor’s guardsmen crazy trying to keep an eye on her!”

“Aye?” Raimair cocked his head, still stroking his mustache, then chuckled. “Aye, I can believe that. Wish to Langhorne she could do the same thing here, too!”

“You and I both,” Coris said. “You and I both. But even if the King would let her, we couldn’t, could we?”

“No, I don’t suppose we could, My Lord,” Raimair agreed heavily.

They looked at one another in silence for several seconds. It would have been difficult to imagine a greater contrast between two men. Coris was fair-haired, of no more than average build, possibly even a bit on the slender side, aristocratically groomed and dressed in the height of fashion. Raimair looked like exactly what he was: a veteran of thirty years’ service in the Corisandian Army. Dark-eyed, powerfully built, plainly dressed, he was as tough in both mind and body as he looked. He was also, as Captain Zhoel Harys had said when he recommended Raimair to Coris as Irys’ bodyguard, “good with his hands.”

And large and sinewy hands they were, too, Coris thought approvingly.

“Pardon me for asking, My Lord, and if it’s none of my affair, you’ve only to say so, but is it my imagination or are you feeling just a mite more nervous of late?”

“Odd, Tobys. I never realized you had an imagination.”

“Oh, aye, I’ve an imagination, My Lord.” Raimair smiled thinly. “And it’s been whispering to me here lately.” His smile disappeared. “I’m not so very happy about what I’m hearing out of… places to the north, let’s say.”

Their eyes met. Then, after a moment, Coris nodded.

“Point taken,” he said quietly. The Earl of Coris had learned long ago how risky it was to judge books by their covers. And he’d also learned long ago that a noncommissioned officer didn’t serve as long as Raimair had without a brain that worked. Other people, including quite a few who should know better, forgot that all too often. They came to regard soldiers as little more than unthinking pawns, enforcers in uniform who were good for killing enemies and making certain one’s own subjects were kept firmly in their places, but not for any tasks more mentally challenging than that. That blindness was a weakness Prince Hektor’s spymaster had used to his advantage more than once, and he had no intention of forgetting that now.

“She’s not discussed it with me, you understand, My Lord,” Raimair said in an equally quiet voice, “but she’s not so good as she thinks she is at hiding the way the wind’s setting behind those eyes of hers. She’s worried, and so are you, I think. So the thing that’s working its way through my mind is whether or not the lads and I should be worried as well?”

“I wish I could answer that.” Coris paused, gazing into the lamp flame and pursing his lips in thought for several seconds. Then he looked back at Raimair.

“She and the Prince are valuable game pieces, Tobys,” he said. “You know that. But I’ve been receiving reports lately from home.”

He paused again, and Raimair nodded.

“Aye, My Lord. I saw the dispatch from Earl Anvil Rock and this Regency Council when it arrived.”

“I’m not talking about the Earl’s official reports,” Coris said softly. “He’ll know as well as I do that any report he sends to Talkyra’s going to be opened and read by at least one set of spies before it ever reaches me or the Princess. And don’t forget-he’s in the position of someone cooperating with the Charisians. Whether he’s doing that willingly or only under duress, it’s likely he’ll bear that in mind whenever he drafts those reports he knows other people are going to read. The last thing he’d want would be for… certain parties to decide he’s cooperating with Charis because he wants to. I’m not saying he’d lie to me or to Princess Irys, but there are ways to tell the truth, and then there are ways to tell the truth. For that matter, simply leaving things out is often the best way of all to mislead someone.”

“But the Earl’s her cousin, My Lord.” Raimair sounded troubled. “Are you thinking he’d be looking to feather his own nest at her expense? Hers and the boy’s? I mean, the Prince’s?”

“I think it’s… unlikely.” Coris shrugged. “Anvil Rock was always sincerely attached to Prince Hektor and his children. I’m inclined to think he’s doing the very best he can under the circumstances to look after Prince Daivyn’s interests, and that’s certainly the way his correspondence reads. Unfortunately, we’re fourteen thousand miles as the wyvern flies from Manchyr, and a lot can change when a man finds himself sitting in a prince’s chair, however he got there. That’s why I left eyes and ears of my own behind to give me independent reports.”

“And those would be the ones you’re talking about now?” Raimair’s eyes narrowed intently, and Coris nodded.

“They are. And they accord quite well with Earl Anvil Rock’s, as a matter of fact. That’s one of the things that worries me.”

“Now you’ve gone and lost me, My Lord.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Coris showed his teeth in a tight smile. “It’s just that I’d rather hoped the Earl was putting a better face on things than circumstances really warranted. That there was more unrest-more resistance to the Charisians and, especially, to the ‘Church of Charis’-than he’s reported and that he was trying to cover his backside a bit in his dispatches to us here by understating it.”