Page 93 of The Castle & the Cloister

The measured tread of guards sounded in the corridor, escorting Hadrian through the quiet halls. An image of the old man from when the Priest had been young still existed in his mind—Hadrian had been tall and spare, with a tidy dark beard beginning to go iron gray, and a face and frame that radiated control. Now he strode through the door with a smell of horse and dust clinging to him. Hadrian had traveled hard, and when he spoke, his voice was impatient and weary.

“All right,” he said. “Orden is dead. Honoria’s throne is empty. And that’s not a state of affairs that can last long. Unless we all want to bend the knee to Afon as a new province of Caervallion, we’d best settle the succession.”

Well then, thought the Priest with grim satisfaction at Hadrian’s words. Perhaps my gods do exist and favor me after all.

Lucian forced a laugh. “Never a province of Caervallion. Honoria will always stand independent, as a nation of conquerors. But if a conqueror ruled both lands, there’d be no shame in allying with the north.”

“We had enough of alliances while Orden was alive,” Hadrian said sternly. “Look where that got him. What we need now is a strong Honoria, with an iron ruler, who can hold the throne and prove to the world that we are still Inver, and still burn.”

The words came out pointed, and the Priest knew they were meant for him. Hadrian had grave doubts, and it was up to the Priest to assuage them.

“My thoughts exactly,” Lucian replied, the words silken. “And I’m more than happy to support the strongest bid for the throne, whatever corner it arises from. Even now, Ariana Lyrien, who’s claimed Orden’s downfall, is secure in the castle dungeons. Her death will legitimize Orden’s successor as our true Inver heir and avenger of the king.”

Hadrian made a disparaging noise. “In my day, the execution of your rivals came first,thenthe claim to a new title. We knew the natural order of things—conquest before politicking and currying of favor.”

“Then I look forward to the restoration of Inver poweryourrise will surely usher in,” Lucian said wickedly, and the Priest sat back in his chair,letting out a slow breath. Good. Let him taunt Hadrian. The old man had no patience whatsoever for such behavior. “Should you wish to dispose of the queen now, I can have her brought up. Her body on the walls will serve as the prelude to your claim on the throne.”

“Bring her up.” Hadrian bridled. “That’s exactly the sort of white-gloved, clean-handed nonsense this court has devolved into and that would never have been acceptable in Darias’s day, or gods forbid, his father Tobin’s. They were men of action. They overthrew their rivals personally, not via some slithering sycophant.”

“Perhaps the queen had accomplices, whom Orden’s successor could rout out and dispatch himself,” the Priest interjected with a calm he did not feel. “Ariana worked all manner of mischief during her time on the throne—undermining Orden’s policy, bringing Afon across our borders for summer council, and smuggling Corrinian refugees through the sanctuary under my very nose, though I’m ashamed to admit it. It stands to reason that one lapsed soria couldn’t manage that much on her own. She’d have had help, from someone highly placed. Someone more interested in self-enrichment than loyalty to king or country or Inver virtues. We’ve had foreign powers tampering with our governance for far too long, in my opinion. It’s time we closed ranks and put Honoria first.”

Hadrian’s full and prodigious attention turned to the Priest. He knew nothing of the details of the Priest’s succession plans—better he be left to watch them unfold, knowing only that his arrival in Inverlyn would provide opportunities for personal advancement. “Oh? And do you have a suspicion as to who the queen’s overseer might be?”

Lucian was wary now, and not to be underestimated, even when the Priest was slowly backing him into a corner.

“Perhaps Lucian knows who might have been colluding with the queen,” the Priest said. “It seems she put the interests of every nation on the Hand before those of Honoria. Corrin. Song Royale. Caervallion.”

“I would say only that the heart of the mountain is your domain,” Lucian answered sharply. “If the queen was shunting her disaffected countrymen through the sanctuary, any and all blame lies with you.”

“I’m willing to take my share of it,” the Priest said, “and to make amends for that unfortunate oversight. But I’m a clever man. It couldonly have been a wily and formidable ally to Ariana who was able to move Corrinians through my own sanctuary without my knowledge. However, I’m less concerned with the travels of a people sworn to peace than I am with the machinations of Caervallion. It seems someone close to the throne had been systematically meddling with the queen’s health for years, attempting to prevent her from getting an Inver heir. Crispus was the blunt instrument used for that, and though he was paid in Vesperin coin, I did manage to learn that it was Caervallion that provided it. The physician was a pompous fool, though, and never could have devised such a devious way of tampering with the queen. It would have taken someone craftier, who hated her a great deal, but who had intimate access to my brother and his family. Someone with the talents of a spymaster, perhaps?”

Lucian rose to his feet with a scrape of his chair against stone and protested hotly. “If you mean to level accusations, you’d best have irrefutable evidence of my so-called collusion. In fact, I have always worked on behalf of Inver interests.”

“But not Honorian ones. Upper-left drawer,” the Priest said to Hadrian, who strode to Lucian’s desk and wrenched the drawer open. The spymaster could do nothing, not with two of Hadrian’s personal guard at the door and none of his own in sight—a show of confidence and good faith on Lucian’s part, which had done him no favors.

From Lucian’s desk, Hadrian withdrew papers one of the Priest’s various informants had found in Crispus’s suite, and in the room of the spy who’d attempted blackmail. The former made it clear that Crispus had been paid off by Caervallion, while the latter implied heavily that Lucian was Afon’s agent in Inverlyn. For good measure, the Priest had even planted a letter of his own, from Matria Serafine. Though it was addressed to no one particular, it offered thanks for assistance in moving three Lyrien sorias through the cavern sanctuary.

“Is there anyone whohasn’tpaid you to go turncoat at this point?” Hadrian said with absolute disdain. “And have you no loyalty, apart from your own pocket and advancement?”

“Caervallion has a valid claim on the Honorian throne,” Lucian shot back. “As for the rest, it’s spurious lies. The Priest himself is the one who moved Corrinians and sorias through the sanctuary.”

“I should have known.” The Priest infused his words with a self-disparaging tone. “I should’ve realized Ariana’s devotion to our gods was only a show, and that Lucian’s willingness to serve another king after Darias was only a matter of expediency. Honoria has simply not been the highest bidder for him, and he respects nothing else. Lucian Inver, it is my duty as Priest to level charges of high treason and collusion against you, and to remand you to the gods’ judgment.”

“Those papers areyours.” Lucian’s voice rang with unspent fury. “And if there’s to be any judgment administered, it’s mine, in the role of court magistrate. I will see you stripped of your title and spread-eagled on the war god’s altar.”

The Priest shook his head pityingly. “Will you? A shame, that the court magistrate requires unanimous support from a special counsel to overthrow a Priest, while I need only the support of the gods to claim a traitor for Tyrus. And as I am the sole mouthpiece of the gods, I believe that support will be granted.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound audible in the room was Lucian’s heavy, ragged breath. And as the spymaster’s discomfort heightened, the Priest began to realize with a sinking feeling that he’d gone too far. If Lucian’s fatal flaw was underestimating his enemies, the Priest’s was its opposite—he’d overestimated Lucian, assuming his rival was always in control, and would easily squirm out of whatever noose the Priest set for him. He’d envisioned a scenario in which Lucian was briefly consigned to the Inver dungeon, but vanished within a day, spirited off by whatever powerful friends he’d yet to call on.

It was what the Priest would’ve done in the same situation—bided his time and disappeared. But Lucian, it seemed, was well and truly in a corner, and the Priest had robbed him of the chance to recover his equilibrium.

If the Priest knew one thing, it was this: an Inver in control was a formidable opponent. An Inver in dire straits was far more dangerous.

“Afon has a claim to Honoria’s throne and a valid one at that,” Lucian said in a sudden, fatalistic rush. “He’s as Inver as Orden was. In fact, he’s Carian Inver, Darias’s chosen son. We would be wise to welcome him as our rightful king.”

“That isenough,” Hadrian barked. “Wild falsehoods will get younowhere. I knew Carian, and Afon is nothing like him. Do you think me as blind as our Priest, that I would not recognize a son of Darias, even in the garb of a foreign king?”

“Then hear this,” Lucian hissed. “I level the same claims of treason against the Priest, and hold an equivalent position of power. There can be no resolution between us but the rite of conquest. Let our dispute be resolved by Tyrus and Mortis, who will grant one of us victory in battle and one of us death.”