Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“And will you abandon me now to my foolishness?” Bronwynn spat, her eyes flashing.

Joss stiffened. “Your Highness, you know the truth. I never abandoned your father. Nor will I ever abandon you. But I cannot vouch for the loyalty of any other of your ministers, and there are many would-be rulers among the courtlings of the Imperial House. Your personal love for the Man warrior is understandable, and your wish to aid him is, in some aspects, even justifiable. But this is not a reasonable decision. It is based on emotions alone.”

Bronwynn sighed and gripped the railing. “Are you going to give me the whole lecture?”

“Your husband has not summoned you—”

“Maybe he can’t!”

“But maybe he chooses not to!”

“He may be in trouble.”

“But your arrival may bring him more! So the Maris are fighting among themselves. This is no new thing.

It is, in fact, the norm for those barbarians. But if you believe our arrival at Westmouth with twenty thousand swords will bring cheer to the faction Lord Rosha backs, then you’ve sorely mistaken the Mari mind! The Golden Throng will put an end to their warring on one another. Instead, they’ll unite to drive us out!”

“But you’ll be our general this time—not my father,” Bronwynn said with mocking sweetness.

Joss ignored her sarcasm and plunged on. “Then there’s the other adversary—Lamath.”

“You told me yourself that Lamath is in chaos!”

“Yet they remain our primary foe—our hereditary foe. And by calling me home you’ve broken any diplomatic relationship we might have had with them.”

“I’ll not have dealings with the men who overthrew Erri,” Bronwynn grumbled.

“Then you’ll likely face them in battle, for what will unite Lamathians more quickly than the threat of a Chaon invasion? Bronwynn—” Joss caught himself, shocked and embarrassed at this breach of royal etiquette.

Bronwynn turned to regard him with a cool smile. “Yes?”

“Please forgive me, your Highness.” He emphasized the title.

“Oh, I think I’ve already done that,” she said brightly, and she leaned over the wooden railing in a studied show of interest in the parade. Kherda hoped Joss would have the sense to abandon the battle and resign himself to doing their sovereign’s bidding. He glanced at the old soldier behind the queen’s back, and raised his eyebrows. Joss nodded, and the old warrior’s shoulders seemed to slump. Bronwynn spoke again, and the Prime Minister leaned forward to listen. “I really don’t care whom we battle, or where. It’s just that I’ve waited inside that castle for too long. My mind’s made up. It’s time to act. Joss, take your finest regiment and return to the palace to make final preparations. We’ll march this afternoon. Kherda, you—” She broke off, and pointed. “What’s that?”

Kherda glanced over to see that his pasty-faced assistant was holding a message out toward him. The Prime Minister reached out and took it. In reading it, his own face drained of all color.

“Well?” Bronwynn snapped impatiently. “What is it?”

Kherda cleared his throat and blinked twice. “It’s—Jagd of Uda, my Queen.”

“Yes, yes,” Bronwynn snarled. “And what does the chief of merchants want now?”

“Ah… nothing, my Queen. That is, he’s unable to—I mean, he’s dead!”

“Dead? How did he die?”

Kherda drew himself up to his full height and invested his reply with drama befitting its importance. “An assassination my Lady. He was swarmed to death by sugar-clawsps.”

Bronwynn blinked. “Clawsps again.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Kherda said meaningfully.

Queen Bronwynn heard something in his tone of voice that made her spear him with an angry glare.

“And you’re thinking that I need to wait, that we have no business marching off to war while swarms of crazed insects ravage our citizenry?”

Kherda backed away from her as far as he dared, feeling behind him for the platform’s rear rail. “Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat. “I… the thought had occurred to me—”

“Exactly what do you think my presence here could add to the struggle against the tiny creatures?”

“Ahem,” Kherda said again, still backing. “A… demonstration of… solidarity, perhaps…” I suppose I could tour the devastated area?” Bronwynn smiled sourly.

Kherda choked out, “That might be an appropriate gesture—”

Bronwynn suddenly looked downward. As her attention left him, Kherda felt like a fish who had suddenly managed to slip free of a hook. He sighed and sagged against the wooden railing in relief.

“Who’s that?” Bronwynn was asking, pointing at a cluster of figures moving through the crowd far below.

Joss looked where she pointed and sighed wearily. “It appears the missionaries are among us again.”

He didn’t hide his contempt.

“They may have news of Erri,” Bronwynn muttered. She quickly crossed the wooden platform and started down the stairs. Joss.pursued her, but Kherda chose to cling to the railing, waiting for the rickety structure to stop shaking before descending. He was the only one to see the purple insect dart from its place and disappear quickly in the direction of the Imperial House. At first he was terrified. Then he laughed at himself. “A coincidence,” he muttered. “What could one tiny insect do to me?” The platform had stopped rocking. Carefully, cautiously, Kherda started the long climb down.

“Naquin!” Bronwynn cried as she reached the bottom of the treacherous stairway. “How very nice to see you!” She smiled brightly, but it was as fake a smile as any she’d given to Joss or Kherda on the platform above. Bronwynn had always treated Naquin with courtesy, but she’d never found any common ground for a relationship with the man. That she kept trying was evidence of her great love for Erri.

Privately, she wondered what the prophet saw in this rigid, blue-gowned ex-priest.

Naquin bowed elaborately, but failed to hold out a hand to help her the rest of the way down. Naquin had been raised as one of the pampered, not a pamperer. He still hadn’t mastered all the niceties of being of lower station. “My dear Queen Bronwynn. You look much happier than you did several days ago. In fact, you appear quite radiant.”

“Excitement, Naquin,” the queen said briskly. “I’m about to take some action instead of waiting around the palace. Come. I’m about to return to the Imperial House. I assume you have news of Erri?”

Bronwynn was striding toward her horse, looking backward in the obvious expectation that Naquin would follow. The man did, but some uneasiness registered on his face. Bronwynn wondered at its cause, even as she directed her Lord of the Livery to find Naquin a mount. Joss had joined them and was barking crisp orders that had servants scurrying in all directions. By the time Bronwynn and Naquin were mounted, a crack regiment had fallen in behind them to escort them back to the palace.

The skyfaither’s uneasiness continued to show itself as he offered her Erri’s greetings and told her the circumstances of his meeting with the prophet. It put her on guard. Her smile never wavered, but Bronwynn prepared herself for unpleasant news.

It wasn’t until they’d entered the Imperial House and climbed the spiral staircase to the throne room that she finally understood. Bronwynn had smiled enough for today. Now she unleashed her fury. “Erri said I should what\” she bellowed, loudly enough to echo down the halls.

Naquin shifted position and repeated, “The prophet suggests you should wait. Naturally, you’ll give the highest attention to his instructions.”

“His instructions!” Bronwynn gasped, eyes wide.