And the fact that all of these people truly believe in what they've been taught is part of it, he thought. There's power in faith, even when that faith is being used and abused, and I can't believe God doesn't listen to these people, however they may have been lied to. All of this faith, all of this belief . . . surely He has to recognize its strength, its passion. How could He condemn anyone for worshipping Him in the only way they've ever been taught?

The procession of bishops unraveled as the prelates took their positions and Staynair turned to face the entire crowded cathedral from the foot of the steps leading to his archbishop's throne. He stood there, until the music finally swept away into silence. Still he said nothing, only smiling, while that silence stretched itself into a perfect and purified stillness. It was so quiet that it seemed as if no one in that entire vast cathedral dared to so much as breathe, and only then did he speak into the waiting hush.

"My children," he said then, "this is a great and joyous day. It is always a source of joy for the people of a well-ruled kingdom when their monarch weds. Not only does that marriage become a promise and a guarantor of the future succession of the Kingdom, but any ruler-be it king or queen-who finds the spouse of his or her heart, so that they may stand side by side, united against all the world may send against them, is a stronger and a better monarch.

"King Haarahld, may God and the Archangels smile upon him, found exactly that bride in Queen Zhanayt, and now I may tell you that, of my own knowledge, King Cayleb has found that bride in Queen Sharleyan, as well. Marriages of state are all too seldom marriages of the heart, my children. Never doubt that this marriage is both."

He smiled up at the royal box, where Cayleb and Sharleyan sat side by side, and Cayleb reached out-unconsciously, Merlin was almost certain-to take Sharleyan's hand in his own.

"This marriage, however, is more than simply the union of a young man and a young woman," Staynair continued. "It is more even than the normal dynastic marriage which secures the inheritance of a title or a crown. In this marriage, we see the union not only of man and wife, but of Charis and Chisholm, of two realms which will become one. Of the commitment and fierce resolve of two peoples to stand for truth and to defend that which all men not blinded by avarice, greed, personal ambition, intolerance, or bigotry know to be worth dying to preserve. And so, we have much to be grateful for this day, much for which to return thanks to God. There will be days of darkness before us, my children, for the struggle to which we have set our hearts, our minds, and our hands will not be an easy one, nor will the battle be quickly won. But when those days of darkness come, when gloom lies all about you and you are most tempted to despair, remember this day. Remember this King and this Queen, who come before you now to consecrate their vows to one another in your sight, and in the sight of God. Remember that they have chosen to promise their lives to one another . . . and to you."

The silence was even more absolute, if that were possible, and then the archbishop smiled once more-a huge and beaming smile, flooding the sober silence his words had created with a vast tide of joy and anticipation as he raised both hands and Cayleb and Sharleyan rose. They descended the carpeted steps from the royal box, between sweet-scented drifts of spike-thorn, to stand hand in hand before him. For all the importance of this wedding, all the hopes and fears and promises riding upon it, the ceremony they had chosen was very ancient, and very simple. Any young bride and groom, however humble their circumstances, might have chosen it, and there was a message in that, as well. They faced the primate of all Charis, and he looked beyond them to the waiting tide of faces.

"And now, dearly beloved," he told the people behind those faces, "we have gathered together here in the sight of God and the Archangels, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God and the Archangels, signifying unto us the mystical union that is between God and His Church; which is a holy estate which the Archangel Langhorne adorned and beautified with his presence in his time here upon Safehold, and is commended of the Archangel Bedard to be honorable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God. Into this holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

.III.

Tellesberg Palace,

City of Tellesberg,

Kingdom of Charis

Your Majesties, Prince Nahrmahn and Princess Ohlyvya."

Nahrmahn Baytz stepped past the bowing chamberlain with a lifetime's aplomb. From his expression, no one could have guessed that the rotund little prince wasn't walking into his own throne room. His wife was as tall as he was and far more slender, and she, too, had a lifetime's experience as a noblewoman and a princess consort, yet she couldn't match his apparent calm. No one could have called her overtly nervous; at the same time, no one could have doubted she would much have preferred to be somewhere else.

They crossed the same polished stone floor Baron Pine Hollow had crossed before them, and Nahrmahn considered how the throne room-or its inhabitants, at least-had changed as they halted before the same pair of thrones. Cayleb wore the Charisian Crown of State, which had recently become the imperial Crown of State, as well, while Sharleyan wore an only marginally smaller crown without the Crown of State's rubies. Despite the crowns neither of them were in full court regalia, at least, for which Nahrmahn was profoundly-if privately-grateful. Ohlyvya looked stately and beautiful in full regalia; Nahrmahn looked like a round, fuzzy ball which had somehow acquired a head and feet.

Stubby little feet.

Isuppose it's a good thing I decided to do this before I actually laid eyes on Cayleb in the flesh, as it were, for the first time, the Emeraldian prince thought with a touch of whimsy. If I'd had time to see how tall, broad-shouldered, and disgustingly handsome he is with my own eyes and work up a proper state of livid jealousy, I might not have been able to do it after all. Having your head chopped off is much less irritating than admitting that the man you're about to surrender to looks so much more like a king than you do.

That thought carried him to the foot of the waiting thrones, and he bowed deeply while Ohlyvya curtsied.

"Your Majesties," he murmured.

"Actually, Prince Nahrmahn," Cayleb said dryly, "we've decided upon a slightly revised protocol. Since my wife and I"-Nahrmahn wondered if Cayleb himself heard the profound, proud satisfaction in the emphasis he placed upon the word "wife"-"are both reigning heads of state in our own rights, and since there's always the possibility of confusion, it's been decided that while it's correct and proper to address either of us individually as 'Majesty' in the absence of the other, the proper protocol now is that in Charis, when both of us are present, I am properly addressed as 'Your Majesty' while she is properly addressed as 'Your Grace.' In Chisholm, where we'll also be spending approximately half the year, she will be properly addressed as 'Your Majesty' while I'll be properly addressed as Your Grace.' "

"Ah, I see, Your Majesty." Nahrmahn felt his lip trying to twitch in something he suspected would have been a smile if he'd allowed it to show itself "I can readily understand where that might have created confusion. Of course, I'm quite sure that when word of your marriage-not to mention your coronation as Emperor-reaches Zion, the reaction will be substantially worse than 'confusion.' "

"One can only hope," Cayleb replied, then leaned back in his throne and cocked his head. "And while we're on the topic of news reaching Zion, I'm sure they'll be equally perturbed by the news of your arrival here, and the reason for your visit. May I suppose that your arrangements with Commodore Zhaztro and Duke Solomon have adequately . . . secured your rear, shall we say, against Bishop Executor Wyllys and his reaction to your decision?"

Nahrmahn managed not to blink any eyes or let his jaw drop in slack astonishment. And, he reminded himself a moment later, Cayleb's remark didn't necessarily imply any special knowledge about his own recent activities. He'd already had ample evidence that the Ahrmahks were a dismayingly intelligent and competent dynasty. It wouldn't have taken someone as bright as Cayleb very long to reason out what Nahrmahn must have done to protect himself against the Church's reaction. And having figured out what he'd done, it would have been only a single short, simple step to deducing who he'd selected to do the doing.

Still, it's an impressive conversational gambit, he admitted to himself "I believe the good Bishop Executor is currently a guest in Eraystor Palace, Your Majesty," he said calmly. "I'm sure my staff is providing for all of his needs, and he's entirely welcome to remain our guest until such time as we manage to resolve any . . . misunderstandings."

"Perhaps we could send Bishop Zherald to help him reason his way to the truth," Sharleyan suggested. Nahrmahn looked at her politely, and she shrugged. "Bishop Zherald has placed his services at Archbishop Maikel's disposal, following Archbishop Erayk's murder at the Inquisition's hands. It might be that his own experience in Bishop Executor Wyllys' role might enable him to lead the Bishop Executor to a more accurate understanding of what the schism between the Church of Charis and the Church of Zion truly means."

"He might, indeed, be able to exert a beneficial influence, Your Grace." Nahrmahn bowed to her once again. "At any rate, I don't see any way it could hurt."

"Then, if the Archbishop is willing to dispatch him to Eraystor, we'll certainly do so," Cayleb said. "In the meantime, however, there are certain formalities to be attended to."

"Indeed there are, Your Majesty," Nahrmahn acknowledged.

"In that case, I believe there's only one preliminary question which must be asked and answered under the eyes of our court and our advisers as well as the eye of God. And that question is whether or not you understand, fully accept, and enter without reservation upon the terms provisionally accepted upon your part by Baron Pine Hollow?"

"Your Majesty, I do." Nahrmahn bowed again, more deeply. "And since, as you say, we stand currently under the eyes of your court and your advisers, I would also beg leave to say this. The terms which you and Her Grace have seen fit to offer to my subjects, to my House, and to me as an individual are far more generous than I ever anticipated or might reasonably have asked for. Because of that truth, and because of my awareness of it, I wish to express my deep and profound gratitude."

"The terms are what they are, My Lord," Cayleb replied after a moment. "I won't deny I was strongly tempted to be . . . less generous. But vengeance for past enmities is a petty thing, and a poisonous one. There are far more things happening in the world these days than the traditional squabbling and sparring between Emerald and Charis. Those things leave no time for our small, local disputes, and I don't propose to leave any festering cankers to poison all of us when we confront the greatest challenge of our lives. Her Majesty and I didn't offer these terms because of how much we love you; we offered them out of a realistic understanding of the need to make reliable allies out of past enemies in the face of the threat represented by the Group of Four."

"The fact that generous terms may also be wise makes them no less generous, Your Majesty," Nahrmahn said.

"Perhaps not. But now it's time to deal with those formalities."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Nahrmahn gave his wife's hand a last, unobtrusive squeeze, then released it and stepped forward to the waiting cushion. That cushion's placement was an indication of just how much things had changed. It wasn't directly in front of Cayleb's throne. Instead, it was placed between the two thrones, and as he went to his knees on it, Archbishop Maikel held out a gold and gem-clasped copy of The Holy Writ. The prince kissed the book's cover, then laid his right hand upon it while he looked up into Cayleb's and Sharleyan's eyes.

"I, Nahrmahn Hanbyl Graim Baytz, do swear allegiance and fealty to Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan of Charis," he said speaking clearly and distinctly, "to be their true man, of heart, will, body, and sword. To do my utmost to discharge my obligations and duty to them, to their Crowns, and to their House, in all ways, as God shall give me the ability and the wit so to do. I swear this oath without mental or moral reservation, and I submit myself to the judgment of the Emperor and Empress and of God Himself for the fidelity with which I honor and discharge the obligations I now assume before God and this company."

There was a moment of silence. Then Cayleb laid his hand atop Nahrmahn's on the Writ, and Sharleyan laid her hand atop Cayleb's.

"And we, Cayleb Zhan Haarahld Bryahn Ahrmahk and Sharleyan Ahdel Alahnah Ahrmahk, do accept your oath," Cayleb replied steadily. "We will extend protection against all enemies, loyalty for fealty, justice for justice, fidelity for fidelity, and punishment for oath-breaking. May God judge us and ours as He judges you and yours."

For an endless moment, all three of them looked into one another's eyes at the heart of a profound stillness. And then, finally, Cayleb smiled crookedly "And now, My Lord, you should probably stand up. I believe you and I- and Her Grace-have quite a bit that needs discussing."

It had not, Prince Nahrmahn reflected as he gazed out of the window of his family's sumptuous suite at the clouds welling up above the Styvyn Mountains to the west, lit with the crimson and gold fire of sunset, been the sort of day he'd once looked forward to spending in Tellesberg. In one way, it was a great relief. He'd come out of the conflict with a crown still on his head, even if its authority had been rather severely diminished, and with a close familial relationship with what bade fair to become one of the most-if not the most- powerful dynasties in the history of Safehold. On the other hand, it was probably at least as likely that the dynasty in question, to which his and his family's fortune was now inescapably tied, would find itself exterminated by a vengeful Church. And, he acknowledged to himself, there was also that other minor bit about who he'd expected to be swearing fealty to whom.

"I think I rather like them, actually," a voice said from behind him, and he turned from the window to face Ohlyvya.

"I presume you're referring to our new sovereign lord and lady?" he said, with a slightly crooked smile, and she snorted.

"Actually I was referring to the second and third under cooks!" she said, and he laughed.

"I never really disliked Cayleb or his father, my dear. They were adversaries, and I'll admit-if only to you-that I found their persistence in surviving everything Hektor or I attempted rather trying, upon occasion. But it was never personal for me the way it was for Hektor. Although, to be totally fair," his smile faded slightly, "given my involvement in efforts to eliminate both of them, I'm astonished that Cayleb appears to cherish so little animosity."

"I don't think either of them do 'cherish' much animosity," she said seriously.

One of Nahrmahn's eyebrows rose, but he only waited for her to complete her thought. Ohlyvya Baytz was a very intelligent woman. More than that, she was the one person in the entire world Nahrmahn trusted without any reservation. Like Cayleb's and Sharleyan's, theirs had been an arranged marriage of state, but it had become far more than that over the years, and Nahrmahn had often wished it had been possible to name Ohlyvya to his official Royal Council. That, unfortunately, had been out of the question, but that hadn't prevented him from listening very carefully to her on the infrequent occasions when she'd offered an opinion.

And, he thought, now that we have an Empress who's also a queen in her own right, naming a woman to a mere prince's council probably just got a lot more possible, didn't it?

"I'm not saying either of them exactly loves you yet, dear," she continued now, with a ghost of a smile, and reached up to lay one hand against his cheek. "I'm sure that once they get to know all the sterling qualities hiding under that shy and modest exterior of yours they'll come to love you, but in the meantime, there are those minor matters of assassination attempts and wars."

"Assassination attempts?" Nahrmahn did his very best to look totally innocent. . . with a notable lack of success.

"Oh, don't be silly, Nahrmahn!" Ohlyvya scolded. "Despite your best efforts to 'protect me' from the sordid realities, I have heard all the rumors about that assassination attempt on Cayleb, you know. And even though I love you as both my husband and the father of my children, I've never cherished any illusions about the seriousness with which you played 'the great game,' I think you've called it."

This time Nahrmahn's eyes widened in genuine surprise. Ohlyvya had seldom expressed herself quite so bluntly. And she was right about at least one thing. He truly had attempted to shield her from the frequently distasteful and unpleasant decisions he'd found himself compelled to make as a player of the game.

Let's be honest with ourselves here, Nahrmahn, he told himself. Yes, you were "compelled" to make some of those decisions, but the real reason you played the game was because you enjoyed it so much. Unfortunately, you didn't end up winning it, although I suppose I could also argue that I haven't exactly lost it yet, either.

Something of his thoughts must have shown in his expression, because his wife shook her head.

"I'm not complaining, Nahrmahn. There have been times I've been tempted to complain, that's true. In fact, there have been more than a few times when I wanted to kick you smartly in the posterior. On the whole, though, I've been able to tell myself-honestly, I think-that most of the things you've done, including the ones that have caused me the greatest concern for the state of your soul, came about as a result of the situations you faced. Conflict between Emerald and Charis, for example, was probably inevitable, whatever you wanted, just because of geography.

"But," she continued very seriously, looking into his eyes so that he could see the truth in hers, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't rather relieved at the way it finally worked out. I know our parents never expected it, Nahrmahn, but I truly do love you, you know. And I love our children. Knowing Cayleb isn't going to be looking for your head, or seeing the boys as a threat that needs to be . . . dealt with, takes an enormous weight off of my mind and heart."

Nahrmahn raised his left hand, cupping its palm over the hand still on his cheek. His right hand reached out to settle on the back of her neck and draw her forward as he leaned to meet her until their foreheads touched. It wasn't often she expressed her feelings for him that clearly, and he closed his eyes for a moment while he savored it.

"It doesn't end here, you know," he told her then, his voice low. "Cayleb was right when he told Trahvys this is only the beginning. By siding with Cayleb, I've sided against the Temple, and Clyntahn's a far more vindictive enemy than Cayleb could ever be. Not to mention the fact that the Church controls many times the resources, wealth, and manpower Cayleb does, even with Chisholm added to this new 'empire' of his."

"Clyntahn is a bigoted, fornicating, self-serving, gluttonous, wine-swilling, sanctimonious pig with delusions of godhood and a self-righteous sense of zealotry," Ohlyvya said flatly, with a venom Nahrmahn had never heard from her before.

He blinked in surprise at hearing it now and drew back far enough to look into her eyes once more. She looked back without flinching, and he saw a fire burning behind them. One he'd never suspected might be there . . . which was an oversight for which he would find it hard to forgive himself.

"I'm not exactly blind, you know, dear," she told him tartly. "But my point at the moment is that someone like Clyntahn would have a hard enough time standing up to Cayleb and Sharleyan by themselves. With you added to the mix, that pig in Zion is as overmatched as I'd be trying to arm wrestle that Captain Athrawes of Cayleb's!"

Despite himself, Nahrmahn smiled. She glared at him for a moment, and then she chuckled and leaned forward, resting her cheek against his chest.

"I know you've never thought of yourself as the very image of the dashing warrior prince, love," she said. "Well, neither have I. But I've always thought of you as something rather more important than that-someone who looks at the future and his own responsibilities without flinching and without deluding himself. And while I'd never want you to get a swelled head over it, you're also one of the smartest men I know."

"If I'm so smart, then why did I just end up swearing fealty to Cayleb, instead of the other way around?" he asked in a half-jesting tone.

"I didn't say you were infallible, dear; just smart. Besides, to use that charming idiom your son has picked up from those dreadful novels of his, you can only play the cards you're dealt. I believe someone's just offered you an entirely new deck, though. And from what I've seen of you this time around, I don't think you're even tempted to try dealing off the bottom."

"Not anymore," he acknowledged, then shook his head, half in wry amusement and half in bemused disbelief. "Even if I were tempted-which, to my own considerable surprise, I'm not-it would be incredibly stupid of me. There aren't any bridges back to Zion now, love, and there's no way I could possibly take over and maintain the core of opposition to the Temple which Cayleb's been able to put together. Trying to betray him at this point would be like deciding to cut the throat of your best helmsman in the middle of a hurricane. And I'm very much afraid"-his smile was tart enough to sour milk-"that this voyage is going to be long enough that I'll be completely out of practice before things ever get stabilized enough for me to contemplate any sort of treachery."

"Good." She nestled more firmly against him. "Good," she repeated.

"Do you know," he said softly, bending to kiss the part of her hair, "I believe I agree with you."

The clouds of the evening before had turned into a solid, dark gray overcast. Rain slashed down from the wet charcoal heavens, beating on the roof of Tellesberg Palace, rushing down gutters and downspouts, gurgling down the drainage channels beside the capital's roads. Commerce in Tellesberg never stopped, of course. Even during the recent war against the Group of Four's cat's-paws, the purely local shipping of Howell Bay had kept a fair amount of freight moving and the ships to carry it busy. Now that the oceans of the entire world were once again open to Charisian galleons, the waterfront's activity had resumed its normal frenetic level. Even while rain pounded down, lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled, the heavy freight wagons-most drawn by dragons, although here and there a smaller wagon drawn by horses or mules moved down the smaller, narrower streets-continued to flow.

Prince Nahrmahn was impressed. As he stood at the open window of the small, private council chamber looking out into the rain, he saw the visual evidence of the prosperity and industry which made the Kingdom of Charis so much more dangerous a foe than the simple size of its population might have suggested.

The door opened behind him, and he turned from the window as Bynzhamyn Raice, Baron Wave Thunder, entered the chamber.

"Your Highness," King-no, Nahrmahn corrected himself, Emperor- Cayleb's senior spy said with a bow.

"My Lord," Nahrmahn replied with something much closer to a nod than a bow.

"First, I'd like to thank you for making the time available to meet with me," Wave Thunder continued as the two of them walked to the smallish but beautifully polished conference table at the center of the chamber.

"I suspect His Majesty would probably have insisted if I'd proven difficult, My Lord." Nahrmahn chuckled. "I'm quite familiar with the process of. . .'debriefing,' I believe Baron Shandyr calls it. And in all fairness, His Majesty was quite polite about 'suggesting' I sit down for a short chat with you. Obviously, if there's anything I can tell you, I'm at His Majesty's service and yours."

"Actually, Your Highness," Wave Thunder said, waiting until Nahrmahn had seated himself and then settling into a chair of his own on the opposite side of the table, "you may be surprised about the actual purpose of our 'short chat.' To be honest, His Majesty-and I-are less interested in the information you may possess than in the additional insight you may be able to offer into our analysis of the information we already have."

"Indeed?" Nahrmahn raised both eyebrows, and it was Wave Thunder's turn to chuckle.

"Indeed," he confirmed, while a fresh, closer peal of thunder crashed overhead. "In fact, to be perfectly blunt, Your Highness, one of the secondary purposes of this meeting is to acquaint you with the intelligence capabilities we already possess."

"Ah, I see." Nahrmahn smiled thinly. "As a pointed reminder of Cayleb's ability to . . . monitor my own activities, I presume."

"To some extent," Wave Thunder agreed imperturbably, and his own smile was a bit broader than Nahrmahn's had been. "I hope you won't mind my saying that, despite a few initial reservations of my own, it's something of a relief to be able to discuss this with someone who understands how these things are done, Your Highness."

"I'll take that as a compliment, My Lord-provisionally, at least."

"Believe it or not, that was how it was intended."

The baron opened the briefcase he'd brought with him and extracted a fairly thick stack of folders. He laid them on the table in front of him, then cocked his head at Nahrmahn.

"I realize Baron Shandyr hasn't had much luck reestablishing your own spy networks here in Charis, Your Highness," he said. "I also know you've been quite patient with him, despite your own obvious frustration, and that his operations have continued with their normal high rate of success outside Charis."

Nahrmahn's eyebrows rose again at the frankness in Wave Thunder's calm voice. The baron saw his expression and shook his bald head.

"There's a reason he's been so unsuccessful here in Charis, and it has nothing to do with his competence or how hard he's tried. As you yourself are aware, Your Highness, the only way a secret can truly be kept is if it isn't told to anyone. I believe that's a practice with which you're quite familiar, just as you're also aware it can occasionally be frustrating to your subordinates. For example, Earl Pine Hollow was quite surprised some months ago to discover you'd already been in contact with King Gorjah's first councilor."

This time Nahrmahn's eyebrows lowered suddenly, and he frowned.

"There are two reasons I used that particular example," Wave Thunder continued calmly. "First, because it demonstrates the extent to which we've penetrated Emerald, and how long ago we managed to do it. Second, because it demonstrates that you're familiar with the idea of what we call here in Charis 'the need to know' It's one of our fundamental policies that information is kept in individual compartments, and that only those who 'need to know' something in order to do their jobs are made privy to that information It indicates not distrust on our part, although, as you yourself are aware, a certain degree of distrust is a necessary precaution, but rather the protection of critical information by limiting its spread."

"You're right, My Lord," Nahrmahn said slowly, still frowning, although it was a frown of thoughtfulness now, not one of astonishment. "I am familiar with the need to keep things close, although I've never used that description of the logic. 'Need to know.' " He seemed to roll the words on his tongue tasting them as he repeated them, and then nodded slowly. "I have to say it's an appropriate turn of phrase, though."