Page 65 of The Castle & the Cloister

“Miriel’s only a baby yet,” the Priest offered. “She’ll warm to you again.”

“I know. I know she will. But I had been thinking of going back to the mountain with Ariana, after all this. Of keeping my position as Justus’s nurse, and riding to the cloister for a few days each month to see Miriel. Ihateto do it, and it would have been difficult, but Ariana needs someone, at least until she’s stronger, and I’m best placed to be a support for her. If Miriel’s forgetting me, though…”

Uncertainty laced the postulant’s words. The Priest could hear in her voice that she’d lost her way. The decisiveness that characterized her was gone, shattered by divided loyalties and her daughter’s rejection. That, more than anything else, brought home to the Priest how deeply Miriel mattered to Fia. He could not imagine her ever becoming lost ordespairing over an action of his, or the queen’s, or even Dolenza’s. Angry or aggrieved, yes. But rudderless, no. It woke an instinctive urge in the Priest to smooth the road ahead for her as best he could.

“I don’t think anyone expects you to come back with us again,” the Priest lied. In truth, he’d assumed nothing of the kind. It hadn’t even occurred to him that this journey might mean an end to Fia’s presence at court. If he’d thought of it at all, he’d have reached that conclusion, but he hadn’t. He hated to think of Ariana being deprived of the consolation Fia provided. Equally so, he hated to think of himself returning to the cavern sanctuary and his ghosts, with no sunburst interludes of the postulant’s burning presence to enliven the endless dark.

For her sake, he feigned lightness and self-assurance. “We’ve all assumed a part of this journey was Matria Dolenza recalling you to the cloister. You’ve accomplished what she intended—bringing about the beginning of better relations between Raea’s daughters and the castle. Your coming may even be the thing that finally nudges Orden back toward peace. Besides which, Ariana’s regained much of her strength over these last few days. There’s no need for you to stay at court now.”

“You’re lying,” Fia accused.

“Yes,” the Priest owned, his altruism only carrying him so far. “Is it making you feel any better?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m afraid comforting distressed mothers isn’t a religious duty of mine,” the Priest said. As he spoke, he carefully disentangled Celina’s prying hands from a leather cord he wore around his neck, a piece of petrified wood that had supposedly fueled the first Inver fire suspended from the end of it. “If you want a blood sacrifice, I’ve become very efficient at them. If you want a shoulder to cry on, better ask Matria Dolenza instead.”

Fia let out an undignified snort. “I can’t see myselfevercrying on Matria Dolenza’s shoulder.”

“Such an arrangement,” Dolenza’s voice said from the refectory doorway, “would surely be disagreeable for both of us.”

Several people entered the refectory in Dolenza’s wake, sweeping over to the table where the Priest and Fia sat.

“Dolenza, Orden, Ariana, Lucian, and Gaius,” Fia breathed to the Priest before they were in earshot. There followed a general commotion as the Inver party sat, Dolenza on the Priest’s right, and Lucian just past her. Orden took the place across from Fia, with Ariana at his side and Gaius solicitously flanking the queen. All this, the Priest knew from Fia’s whispered commentary, and from his own attempts to track voices as seats were chosen and remarks made on the size and brightness of the refectory.

“Here we are, brother,” Orden said as Dolenza called to one of the sorias to fetch food and wine. “First king and first Priest to set foot in Raea’s house. What do you think of it all?”

There was a hungriness and a satisfaction in his voice that immediately put the Priest on guard. It was the same air Orden had worn during their younger years, whenever he was certain of some new conquest or acquisition of power. All at once Fia placed Justus in the Priest’s arms, gathered up Celina, and strode away. The Priest wondered at that—perhaps Ariana had been showing some sign of distress over her cast-off daughter’s presence.

“I haven’t been in Raea’s great cloister nearly long enough to have made up my mind,” he answered Orden with impenetrable reserve. Given present company, he wouldn’t have shared his impressions for the world.

Fia’s empty place felt cold, in a sanctuary built for heat.

A little procession of sorias arrived and busied themselves with setting platters of food down before Orden and his inner circle. It was nothing like the ornate fare the court lived on—pheasant and venison and mutton, barley bread and egg puddings and dainties concocted from mountain berries and moraine pine syrups. Instead there were the scents of exquisitely soft, herb-encrusted wheat loaves. Sun-roasted vegetables sliced thin and drizzled with honey. Poached fish, steaming gently, the flesh flaking from the bone. Summer wine, the vintage older than the Priest himself, smelling of oak and vine-ripened fruit, of sea wind and the sun-soaked earth.

“Gods, Matria,” Orden said with an appreciative groan as he took a first mouthful. “You sit down here by the sea and eat like a king every day.”

“Not every day,” Dolenza answered, sounding amused. “We are, for the most part, more sparing in our habits. But on feast days and importantoccasions, yes, we enjoy the abundance Raea has blessed us with. I consider this a most noteworthy event, and I will not prevaricate, Majesty. It is not the way of the daughters of the sun to waste words, or to dance around what must be said. So let us not wait but speak plainly and at once.”

Orden made no answer, and it chafed the Priest, not to be able to see his face, and to read disapproval or acceptance there.

“These are the terms for a new alliance between your castle and my cloister.” It was not precisely steel that the Priest heard ringing in Dolenza’s voice, but strength unbending. He knew there would be no haggling over what she offered. Either her terms would be accepted, or they would walk away from this table with things remaining as they always had between Raea’s house and the Inver dynasty. Nothing lost by Dolenza, but no progress made. It was only Orden who stood to lose here, and the Priest shifted restlessly, knowing his brother would divine that and be pricked by it.

“Firstly, it is my understanding that the alliance with Gileta and Song Royale, which Your Majesty depends upon to fuel your war in Vesper, has reached an end. It is not my desire to see Honorians suffer and die needlessly across the sea. Though we enrich the Solis Plains with the incaendium produced by this cloister, the plains are fertile even without it. I would be willing to provide your clan with fully half of our incaendium over the period of five years, in order to ease a slow withdrawal of our people from Vesper without allowing for a wholesale slaughter of Honorians. You needn’t declare Vesper a victor in the war, or surrender in any way. You must simply remove all Honorians from Vesperin soil in a measured and timely fashion. This would be the cost of incaendium provided to you by Bright Raea.”

The Priest shifted, pulse loud in his ears. Dolenza must have been considering this for a very long time, she spoke so decisively and laid out such ambitious terms.

“Secondly,” the Matria went on, relentless in her demands, “the Inver coffers are strained near to breaking by their various conflicts. I am prepared to offer a tithe given free and clear, of a tenth of every harvest the Solis Plains produces, to be honored for your lifetime and the lifetime of your son. That will go far toward improving your clan’s fortunes—whileseveral of you are wealthy, most eke out a scant existence as petty lordlings on Honoria’s least abundant lands, and I cannot imagine the tax revenue from your own people is especially bountiful. A tithe from Raea’s house would enrich the crown, and ease some of the strain upon those whose lands and incomes support it. In exchange for this tithe, we require an assurance sworn before our own goddess and the Inver gods, that Honoria will not make war with Caervallion again.”

It was then, at the worst possible moment, that Afon spoke from the far end of the table, near the wide entryway to the refectory. He must have come in while Dolenza laid out her requirements, and the Priest felt his shoulders tense at the sound of the Caervallin king’s grating voice.

“Very good, Matria. This is quite the muzzle you’ve created for your Inver cur. I should very much like to see him put his head into it willingly, and smother on its confines.”

To her credit, Dolenza brooked no interruption or interference. “This is an Honorian matter and does not concern Caervallion. Soria Aurelia, please escort our guest to the harbor, and show him the fishing fleet. Bring Gileta’s and Corrin’s representatives with you as well; we’ve no need for outside company at present.”

Even that display of authority would undoubtedly irk Orden.

“That is nearly all,” the Matria said, returning her attention to the table and the matter at hand as Soria Aurelia genially solicited Afon’s company, and their steps retreated. “Our last offer is a gift, with nothing required in exchange. There is an estate house twenty miles south of here, with five hundred acres of choice vineyards in its keeping. Traditionally, it has always been passed from one Matria to the next, to afford them a discretionary income throughout their service and fund a retirement afterward. I have deeded it over to Justus Inver, as a naming present for our future king.”