Book 3, Chapter 22: Next Day: Talking to Priests and Earls

I stumbled out of bed, leaving Brin behind to guard it. She rolled over onto my pillow, putting her arms around it. I quietly headed for the privy, enjoying the stone walls on the way, running my hands along them, cold to the touch. It’s a marvel, living in a castle, one that I didn’t think I’d easily get over.

We’d barred all the doors to the extra rooms on the outside, making it difficult to get in. No assassins greeted me, that was good. Unless I needed more excitement in my life, then it was less good. On reflection, my life was exciting enough.

Tossed some clothes on after. Nothing Brin would let me leave the rooms with. A brown and less brown dress, rough cotton, with no lace or silly frills, tied up at the waist with a leather rope-like belt. I’d found it at the bottom of one of the many boxes some of my clothing was kept in. For a princess, it was probably housework clothing. I had to admit, though grumpily, light dresses are a lot easier to get on than armor. I’ll give dresses that. Then headed out my heavy door for the larger, front room.

“Good morning, Princess. Tea is ready for you.” The big man indicated the table by the fireplace, our usual sitting spot.

I headed that way, “Morning, Morry. You really are fitting well into the role of head chef.”

“I consider it almost as important as my other titles.”

“Lord Morry, General-Chef,” I curtsied low and long, “a pleasure to awaken to your ever smiling, tea delivering loveliness.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Loveliness is not a word often used to describe me. Did something happen with the suitors?”

I picked up the caffeinated beverage while sitting down, wishing it were coffee and using it to warm up my hands until it cooled more, “Oh, yes, I met the cutest boy yesterday. Excuse me, man. A seventeen-year-old lord, one of Crygmore’s baron’s sons or something, all primped up and eager to go.”

“Cute . . . boy?” He made a questioning face, as if those two words had never been uttered together before.

I sat forward, “The cutest! Why, were I judging these suitors only on their appearance, he’d be in the top five. Along with . . .” I paused, about to say Gun, then quickly gulped some too hot tea down, coughed and stuck my tongue out trying to cool it, grabbing the water, “Ow!”

“A boy whose memory can cause you to forget how to drink is impressive indeed. I think you may have found the one.”

I scowled at him between sips of room temperature water, trying to cool down the burn. My tongue felt rough and nasty against the roof of my mouth, and I felt dumb. I think, in some cultures, I just proved moral gods didn’t exist. They’d never create such an absurd creature who’d burn its own tongue.

Brin walked in, yawning, “Are you guys nearly finished tea?”

I’d been wondering for some time, and had to ask, “When you were my lady in waiting under the dowager, how did you manage not to get beaten every morning?”

“I just, well the other girls didn’t let me sleep in.”

It dawned on me that I didn’t actually want her waking up with or before me, so hastened to add, “That’s ok. You go right ahead and get your beauty sleep!”

Brin put her hand on her hip, giving me a knowing smile, “You just like wearing entirely the wrong clothing and avoiding my toiletries in the morning.”

“Yes, I do!”

“And what, by gods, are you wearing?” She sat down at the table, eyes on my clothing. “You look like a laundry maid.”

“Uh, morning tea wear?”

Morry smirked, quickly passing her a plate of what I considered breakfast, “We were just talking about yesterday’s suitors.”

“Oh, yes, one of them was beyond handsome! And good manners. A pity he’s such a lowborn lord.”

“Still a boy, though.”

Brin sighed loudly, “Cayce, they’re either too young for you or too old. You don’t seem to have a middle.”

“Well, it’s creepy that people twice my age want to marry me.”

“Creepy?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, how a centipede moves?”

“I guess. Yeah! Creepy like that.”

“And what about the, uh, men your age?”

“Well, girls mature faster than boys!” I thought to myself, ‘And in my case, thirty, thirty-five years faster,’ but couldn’t really say that. Maybe more. I just couldn’t remember.

“In that case, we have some fine prospects in their twenties we can set up meetings for.”

I sat back, waving my hands to signal stop, “Wait, wait. When did this become about prospects and not building alliances, meeting the nobles?”

Brin broke a piece of bread off, glanced around the room, “It’s both. Uhm, is Tread late?”

“It better not be both.” I narrowed my eyes at her and stood up, walking over to the door.

Just then, a knocking. Tread pushed the door open, entered, “Hello and good morning, everyone. Lady Brin, you’re awake early.”

“Tread, you just saved Brin.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“She was about to get a beating.” He looked bewildered, so I added, “Come join the table, have morning tea.”

While Tread went to join Brin for food and tea, I went to go have my shower, use shampoo and conditioner separately, rub body wash into my skin with a gentle, plastic exfoliator sponge, shave my legs with a safety razor and foam, towel off then enjoy the warm air from a blow dryer, toss on some comfortable pants and a shirt, sigh, and do none of those things but dream and pick out some thick cotton semi-comfortable dress to wear.

“No, not that dress!” Brin said, entering, “I chose a nice, neutral blue one for you.”

“I’m only meeting with the priest and the earls today, to discuss the coronation. Then, showing the doctors to the distillation equipment and explaining how alcohol works.”

“In the first part, you have to look your best for the archbishop. Not a mere priest. For the second, if it involves getting you dirty, I’m going to find you a smock. A royal smock.”

“A smock? Is that something you pull over a dress? Can’t I just wear these?” I pulled on the comfortable one I was wearing.

Shaking her head, “A smock. Now sit still.”

I did, with some complaining, and she went to work. Soon, I emerged with a blue dress on and a grumpy face.

***

It was outside the castle proper, but within the outer walls. A large stone cathedral, greyish white, similar to the ones I was familiar with, but definitely different. The basic structure wasn’t a cross for one thing, but a rectangle. Of course, it had enormous double doors that had within them a smaller, human-sized door at the bottom, open. Not wheelchair friendly, the door itself was set six inches above the ground. A door within a door frame. I guess it was probably like that for insulation, but the lack of consideration rammed home the foreignness of it all. Perhaps there was another entrance.

Stepping inside was uncomfortable. It was a huge and open space, sunlight streaming in, but it felt to me cramped, humid and oppressive. I fought against the sudden and strange desire to tear down the holy symbols and smash the altar, burn the chairs.

I closed my eyes a few moments, trying to calm down. Opening them to look anew at the inside. Spires angled high up into the ceiling, murals around the windows, some incorporating the windows into their picture – an enormous hand holding up the window over here, a girl standing on a large tree branch, stepping out the window over there – and others much smaller, centered around little alcoves with littler altars of their own.

Looking at these hideous, enormous murals, had me wondering if I’d stepped into a strange, trick-art museum. Not all of them were based on perspective, though. One had glowing people, the gods perhaps, drinking and partying with the unglowing. But all was not nice and fun, another red and grey mural featured soldiers marching over the bodies of the dead and, worse, the dying, hands up imploringly toward them. I didn’t like it, but my dislike was too great, too visceral for what this place deserved. Derision, perhaps mirth. Not smash it down to its foundation, burn it all with glee and everything else I was feeling.

“Your Highness, I see you’ve found the murals.”

“Ah, yes, Your Excellency. Striking work.”

“It is good to see that you are fully healed. This is the first time you’ve been to the cathedral, yes?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Hopefully, I thought, my last.

“It would be my pleasure to show you around, introduce you to our artworks and their meaning, except, I must apologize, my lady, but the earls Carlisele and Crygmore are here and waiting.”

That was a relief. “Another time, then. Please, let’s attend the earls.”

***

I was beginning to feel like I should have brought Morry with me. His presence would have proved more intimidating than mine alone. I sighed and asked Brin’s father, the Earl Carlisele, “My lord, tell me why again you can’t crown me queen instead of the title which I already have?”

“The kingdom has never been led by a queen alone. You’re also underage.”

“What are you worried about? You think I’m suddenly going to-”

“I think you’re going to throw the kingdom into a series of endless wars!”

“When have the wars ended?” I didn’t shout, but I found myself standing. “I didn’t cause them. Who brought the Ketzillians here?”

Carlisele stood to match me, “Your grandfather did by antagonizing them and taking their lands, and your father exacerbated matters.”

“Ok, well, all I’m interested in in getting my lands back.”

“On top of it all, you’ve gone and poked the Laemacians!”

I tried to sound reasonable, waving my hand as if it was not important, “I did no such thing. They’re the ones making demands and threatening war.”

“You yourself just advocated for taking war to them first, as if we have the soldiers for that!” He slammed his hand on the table.

“I don’t need to protect your lands from them, you know.” I crossed my arms, “I can just take my troops straight down to my castle and stay there – you’re welcome to defend against the Laemacians on your own!”

Pointing his finger at me, he shouted, “See, this is exactly the kind of behavior I’d expect from a petulant girl!”

“Please, please,” said the archbishop, holding his palms up, “will both of you sit down? Can we not discuss this like civilized adults?”

The earl was outright pointing his finger at me, “She’s not an adult!”

“And you’re not a mature, cognizant man, but we’re making do.” He was going all manner of shades of red. Annoyed, feeling betrayed, I turned to the archbishop, “And you, why are you against me becoming the queen.”

He smiled depreciatingly, “In our laws, those of the church, adulthood occurs at sixteen. Positions of office and nobility, rank, can only be taken at that age,” he paused for dramatic effect, but I just knew what he was going to say, “and not a day before.”

I sat down. “These are silly rules.”

“It’s only one more year. It hardly matters.”

I gave him an angry stare. “It matters because a queen has more power than a princess in the eyes of her enemies.” I toyed with the ring on my right hand, almost pulling it off. I could blast them both into oblivion. That would take care of the immediate opposition to my rule. On reflection, it did give me a sense of power. A confidence I didn’t have when I first arrived to this world.

“Is something amusing, my lady?”

“No. Look, you guys are too used to marrying off your women to get them out of the public space as quickly as possible. No, Your Excellency, my lords, don’t interrupt me, I know what this is about. Your fragile egos can’t handle a queen ruling the kingdom, no matter how poorly fit you are to rule.” I ended that last comment with a stare at Carlisele. Earl Crygmore was doing his best to be invisible, silent, seldom looking up from the table.

“For a little girl who has only been in the north for three months, you’re very daring with that tongue of yours.”

“Are you threatening me, Carlisele?” My left hand spinning my right wrist’s bracelet. If he pulled a weapon, I’d have to be fast.

The doors to the room we were in opened and Hafthon walked in. I wondered if he’d changed his mind and had come to support me. “Earl Hafthon, welcome to our angered conversation.”

The archbishop stood, nodding, “Angered it is, my lord.”

“And, have you decided to crown the princess here a queen?”

“No, we have not.”

I stood up again, waiting on him to speak. Crossed my arms.

“Good. Princess Cayce, you may not have to attack Castle Barclay now. An ambassador arrived from the new duke requesting, I believe, that you consider him as your suitor.”

“What? I . . .” I stared at him, slightly shaking my head. “This conversation isn’t about that. We’re talking about the coronation.”

Carlisele looked smug. “You can marry him and then we won’t have to march on the Barclay Duchy. He can muster an army, bring it up here. The Laemacians won’t attack, and he can retake Castle Yohstone, then your own castle. And we will have our king.”

“It’s not going to happen,” I said.

“Your Highness,” said the archbishop, “perhaps you need time to consider the offer? And maybe to talk to the ambassador?”

“It is a strong offer, Princess Cayce.” Hafthon sat down. “The Barclays have a lot of bannermen to call upon. He could raise an army that, with yours, would be large enough to give even the Laemacians pause.”

I scowled at the earl, “If I wanted a large army and the Laemacian lands, I could simply marry the Laemacian Emperor. How old is this boy?”

“He would be sixteen now.”

I sat back down. The thought of marrying a sixteen-year-old boy was repulsive, to say the least. “You’d follow a teenage king, who has never been tested in battle or rule, over a person who has improved your military technology, defeated wizards in personal combat and uncovered not one but two traitors in the kingdom?”

“You’re a teenage girl.”

“Yes, thank you Earl Carlisele, what an astute observation. And all that other stuff? Just incidental I’m guessing?”

“None of what you’re calling military improvements has been tested in real battle.”

“You couldn’t have done it. You’re a halfwit and a coward of a man.”

He stood up in a rage, reaching for his sword. Hafthon quickly grabbed his arm, pulling on Carlisele, and standing himself, “Stop it! Pulling your sword on a girl half your age, my word!”

For my part, I slid my chair back, stood, waiting, hand over my rings, wishing he’d lunge at me. Carlisele’s face was red, so I smiled at him. My left hand spun the metal around and around. Close to pulling it off. I could destroy them all. Then, I’d start on this awful cathedral. It’d be so easy.

The archbishop rushed to put himself in front of me. “This is madness! There’s no reason to fight thusly. The meeting is adjourned for another day. Princess Cayce, I suggest you remove yourself to a solitary room to meditate on what news and greetings the ambassador brings.”

“I keep my own council, Archbishop.”

“Perhaps with meditation you’ll understand why our rules are so strict regarding the age of adulthood.”

“And what’s Carlisele’s excuse then?”

“Please, let’s not continue along this path.” His large body effectively cut off my line of sight to Carlisele, his left arm directing me toward the door. I was pretty sure I could blast through him to get Brin’s father.

I shook my head to get these thoughts out of it. “Alright, alright.” There was no further point in being here. I headed to the exit. At the door, I faced the men, “Earl Hafthon, Archbishop Ghevont, Earl Carlisele, and Earl Crygmore, good day.” And left, guards falling into position.

It seemed I would need a guard with me at any meeting where Carlisele was going to be. He was unfit to rule, as far as I was concerned. Yet it was troubling that I didn’t keep my own emotions in check. Why, oh why, did that man happen to be Brin’s father? It complicated getting him out of the picture because she’d necessarily want to help her family.

Rubbing my eyes, I wondered why I took so much pleasure in antagonizing the man. He was a moron and thought too highly of himself and put me down for being a girl. Yup, that about covered it. It’d be difficult for me to not continue antagonizing him. They probably didn’t have an Antagonists Anonymous here, so I knew in my heart I’d go after him again.

Then there was Hafthon. Looked like he really thought he’d get the duchy regardless. The only capable ruler here, it seemed. But he wouldn’t make a deal with me and I didn’t fully trust him. On the other hand, he was upfront, if on the bold side. Still, why reward someone for not supporting me?

I could surprise everyone and give it to Crygmore. A man who was well versed in tabletops and wood grains. I’d have a wallflower as a duke who’d probably do whatever I wanted. Or, at least, not raise a fuss about it. Or anything. How could he run an earldom with so little presence?

I had to find someone else, cement my power through them. An ally. The problem was, there weren’t any around. All cards were on the table. Laemacia, Barclay, the three earls and Ketzle. No chance I was marrying a teenager. And I really, really did not want to become someone’s fourth and most important wife. But marriage to the usurper would settle all these problems if accounts of their military strength were correct.

If I couldn’t find support, I’d have to find another way.