On another day Miriamele might have smiled or even laughed, but she did not want to be distracted now. She nodded to the archbishop and said, “It is good to see you, Your Eminence. I hope no sad errand brings you to us.”

“Would that it were a happier one, Your Majesty.” Gervis, in all other ways almost the model of what an archbishop should look like—tall, slender, and even-featured, with a fringe of snowy white hair showing below his mitre—had a habit of gnawing at his fingernails when he was distracted or worried. As Miriamele watched, he lifted one of his hands to his mouth before remembering where he was and quickly lowering it again. “But I come to you today not as archbishop of Erchester, but as a humble servant of Mother Church and of our great father, Lector Vidian.”

“And away we go,” said Simon under his breath.

“As always,” Miriamele said loudly, “you bring honor enough by yourself, Archbishop, but we are eager to hear what His Sacredness wishes to be made known.”

“Then let me move swiftly to the matter that brings me here.” Gervis was clasping his hands together as though to thwart any treacherous move one might make toward his mouth. It was clear to Miriamele that he was more than just ordinarily disturbed by something, and she began to feel it herself, as though it were a fever that could pass through the air. “You know of the troubles in Nabban, of course.”

“Nabban? Nothing but trouble most of the time,” Simon said. “Seems like if they’re not stabbing each other in the street, they’re complaining about not being allowed to stab each other.”

“Yes, Archbishop, we are aware of the problems,” Miriamele said with a stern look at her husband. “The king and I have spent much time discussing the current situation, especially the conflict between Duke Saluceris and his brother Drusis. Does the Sacred Father have something to say on the subject?”

“Oh, much and much, Your Majesties. He is fearful for the state of the duchy, but even more, he is fearful for the state of Mother Church and all Osten Ard.”

“Please explain,” said Miriamele, and reached out her hand to Simon, ostensibly in the loving gesture of a royal wife, but really with the intention of giving his knuckles a hard squeeze if he didn’t stick to the course they had planned. “We are eager to hear what His Sacredness has to say.”

“There is nothing to hear from me, Majesties. Lector Vidian has sent a formal envoy to you. He will arrive sometime in the next sennight, I am told.” The archbishop looked a bit sheepish at this. “I was informed so that I might prepare to welcome him. I do not want to tread on the privilege of His Sacredness, but I believe it is in everyone’s interest for me to tell you of this matter first, before the formal delivery of the Sancellan’s request.”

“And are you going to tell us what this request is?” Simon asked. “Or are we to play guessing games, like children at Aedonmansa trying to win a sweet? Ouch!” The king scowled. “You hurt my hand, woman.”

“Many apologies, husband. I was distracted by an irritating noise.” She smiled as sweetly as she could, then turned her smile on the archbishop. “Forgive us, Your Eminence, for the interruption. Please continue.”

Between Simon’s muttering and the seriousness of the matters discussed, it was all Archbishop Gervis could do to keep his hands away from his mouth. He pulled a ring of prayer beads from his pocket and began to tell them, one after another, around and around. “Here is the root of the matter, Majesties,” he said. “In Tiyagaris month, the duke’s brother Drusis is to marry Lady Turia, niece of Count Dallo Ingadaris.”

“Oh,” said Miriamele, genuinely surprised. “Little Turia! I thought he meant to marry the older sister. Surely Turia is not old enough to be married.”

“She will have twelve years that month, Majesty, which both custom and Mother Church accept. It is not the bride’s age that concerns His Sacredness, but the idea that the wedding will strengthen Drusis because he will become Count Dallo’s son, and that it may be the occasion of even more serious fighting between the supporters of the Benidrivine and Ingadarine Houses.”

“I know a little something about this,” Simon said abruptly. “First, making Drusis his son-in-law won’t change anything old Dallo’s doing, because he’s already backing him against his brother, the lawful duke.” He held up his hand when the archbishop would have replied. “And—and, the lector himself, the Sacred Father, is a member of the Clavean family as I recall, who have long been allied to Dallo and the Ingadarines. So why his sudden concern?” The king turned to the queen. “You thought I was not paying attention during all those council meetings, didn’t you?” The only thing missing was a childlike, “Ha!” of triumph.

Miriamele had no cheerful reply to that, so instead she turned to the archbishop. “You were about to say something, Eminence.”

The beads were making a furious circuit through his fingers now. “Yes, well, the king is quite right, of course. But that is part of the problem. You see, His Sacredness is in an awkward position. Ordinarily, especially with the Sancellan Mahistrevis and the Sancellan Aedonitis such close neighbors, he would have intervened long before, when this conflict was first beginning. And do not misunderstand, Your Majesties—His Sacredness has called for peace many times in the last year, tasking all parties with the disruptions and unhappiness caused by their fighting. But things are getting worse in Nabban—just a short time ago the death of some Ingadarines led to rioting in the street, and Duchess Canthia, the Duke’s wife, was caught in it. She survived without harm, thanks to our merciful God, but it was a near thing.”

“Well, I agree that we can’t have these bullyboy Kingfishers and Stormbirds rioting in the streets,” Simon said. “But what can be done?”

“The High King and High Queen can come to the wedding,” said Gervis so hurriedly that it almost seemed he tried to gasp it out with insufficient breath. “That is what the Lector’s messenger will request. His Sacredness will work with Duke Saluceris and the other parties so that during your visit, all will be brought to the table together. With Your Majesties’ presence to demonstrate the importance of concord, agreements can be reached that will protect the peace.” He took a deep breath, then slipped his hand and the beads it held into a pocket of his robe. “That is what the Holy Father will ask. I did not wish you to be surprised.”

Miriamele was, in fact, surprised, and for a moment she could think of nothing to say. A trip to Nabban was a daunting thought with so much else already swirling around the High Throne.

“Why can’t the lector of Mother Church do this himself?” Simon asked. “What good is having a lector if he can’t tell people to stop fighting? Isn’t that what our faith teaches us, that the Lector is the father of the world’s family? Well, that’s what a father does—stops the family fighting. The good God knows I’ve had to do it enough times myself. Only the Lord knows how many times I’ve had to give Morgan a talking-to when he flouted his mother or grandmother.”

And only the Lord knows how little good it ever did, thought Miriamele.

“But you see,” Gervis said, “you already spoke the difficult truth at the heart of it, Majesty, when you pointed out that His Sacredness comes from a house allied with the Ingadarines. Without the help of Count Dallo, the Holy Father would never have been elected by the escritors to the Sacred Chair. Nabban is a city—an entire nation—whose history has been written by the great family houses. ‘Words are less than blood,’ is one of their oldest expressions. Duke Saluceris and his supporters . . . well, they do not trust His Sacredness to be fair to both sides.” The beads came out again after only moments in his pocket. “It will take someone from outside to make peace.”