The Book of the Blessed

Kingsboro

Abbey

Abbot Merrill sat in one of the front pews under the great dome of the Abbey. He let Prior Richard move through, shouting orders at a work crew which knew exactly what it was doing and ignored him, as they prepared Kingsboro Abbey for another coronation. The first coronation here had been upon King Ceol eight hundred years ago when Archbishop Caedan had placed the crown on his head alongside the Lady of Rootless Isle, who was no longer asked to preside over the crowning of kings. The event was painted above the altar where new white candles were being installed.

Under the long windows, gold streamers were arched, and the sweepers swept an already clean floor. For the most part there was very little to be done for a coronation. The only thing Merill objected to was on the day before a national event, the Abbey was closed to the ordinary people it belonged to, and the services which would have usually taken place here were relegated to the underground and side chapels.

Beyond the altar, in the choir stall, the choirmaster was leading the choir in the singing of the entrance psalm.

Make a joyful noise unto Varayan, all ye lands.

Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his

presence with singing.

Know ye that the Lord he is God:

it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves…

In white, an underpriestess was polishing the grey marble image of the Trium. Varayan, his hands outstretched, flanked by his Mother and his Sister. This was the faith that had emerged out of Armor where the Royan across the sea lived, and been brought here to Ankar through the monk saints. Those monks, like Merrill, had very little interest in power or triumph.

Their religion had blended easily with the ways of their kindred, and it was not until the Communion had taken its more powerful form in Sinercia, and bishops had been sent across the sea, that the newer religion had fallen under the sway of bishops and archbishops. Merill was in charge of Kingsboro Abbey insofar as it was an ancient abbey, but in times of national ceremony it was also the cathedral, the seat of the Archbishop who even now could not be bothered to be here, but was at an emergency parliament meeting in the House of Lords, looking over the vows for the coronation.

The choirmaster thumped on his podium, changing the pace of the choir, and from the pillars behind the altar, and the stretched out arms of Varayan, the chorus sang:

Hear my prayer, O Lord, and let my cry come

unto thee.

Hide not thy face from me in the day when

I am in trouble; incline thine ear unto me:

in the day when I call answer me speedily.

Abbot Merrill, as he watched a white streamer brought over the arch above the altar, had a brief flash of fear. What if the King was to die right now? What if Cedd were to come to the throne under the traditional contract? Merrill had looked over the new vows and knew they limited Cedd’s power. He understood why. Before Anthal had come to the throne, the people of the Old Faith, the Blues, the Reds, the witches, the Gifted, had all been banned or under threat. A White priest might champion this as a victory, but Merrill was every a monk and ever for all the people of Westrial. His prayer right now was that the Archbishop and the men who supported Cedd would not understand just how limited the powers of the new king would be.

The kingdom of

Sussail

Castle estillon

“That’s it. That’s it. Nice and slow. You be a good girl. You want to make me happy? I know you do. That’s it. Don’t stop. When we get finished with this, when it gets a little more aggressive and I give you a good mouth fucking, then we can finish on the bed. Or, I don’t know. Ohhh, damn. You’re just too good. You’re just… Ohhhh….”

For a moment it bothered Bohemond that he could not remember the girl’s name, but he sang low in the chair while he mouth worked on him.

“That’s real good. You’re a naughty girl. You’ve had practice.”

She didn’t speak, and whatever she was, not being stupid, she knew he didn’t really want her to speak. Bohemond was so brown he was almost brown as a Royan. He lay back luxuriating in the girl’s pleasure’s, taking his own hands through his thick black hair, his almost girlishly thick eyelashes blinking over dark eyes.

“Oh, you know it! I didn’t even had to tell you to slip your finger there. I didn’t even have to tell you—”

The door flew open and Bohemond sat bolt upright, the girl backing away as Bohemond pulled up his trousers.

“Don’t you have beds to make?” the woman who had just entered demanded of the girl who rose, curtsying and prepared to leave.

“Don’t worry, Roelle,” the young woman, who was scarcely past girlhood said, “He’ll won’t you back tonight. You can finish what you started.”

Flabbergasted as much over being known as being addressed, the servant girl curtseyed and fled.

“Don’t make a liar out of me, Bohem,” the young woman said. She was well dressed in white and blue shimmering silk, her sleeves shimmering with an intricate silver pattern. She was golden brown, not as dark as Bohemond, and her eyes were green, but there was a likeness between them. “You know you can have them because they love you. If you’re going to use them for your pleasure, try giving a little pleasure as well.”

“Issa why are you here?”

“Only because Mother and Father sent me. Now hurry, we’re wasting time.”

The great hall was of golden limestone done in intricate latticed work and before the dais of two old thrones stood a black haired woman and a black haired man who looked like older versions of their offspring. Their children curtseyed, though Isobel made it to her parents before Bohemond.

“Your mother,” King Raoul began, “believes it is time for us to set out for Westrial.”

“In time for King Anthal’s death,” Queen Hermudis explained.

Bohemond blinked, but noticed his sister was unaffected.

“News has come that, even though Anthal still lives, Cedd is being crowned in the morning so that the succession will be secure,” the Queen said.

“And your mother feels that we ought to be at the funeral of the old King if not the coronation of the new one.”

“Westrial will need a Queen,” Hermudis said, frankly. “And, incidentally, Bohemond will need a Queen one day as well. This is the perfect time to travel north.”

“Then it is decided,” Bohemond’s brows knit looking from his mother to his father.

“Of course it is,” Raoul murmured.

Hermudis disregarded her husband’s irritation and holding out her arm to her daughter she said, “Walk with me.”

“What do you think they are saying?” Princess Isobel asked.

“That I am a imperious old crow and you are as bad as me,” her mother told her. “You are scarcely back from the Rootless Isle and your father had not forgiven me for sending you there or for you bearing my family name. But he has Bohemond, and Garcia. Allow me one!”

They walked the long gallery of Galema which overlooked the Great Bailey. Latticed sunlight came through the wall that looked down on the bailey below and the Queen whispered so that the stone walls did not echo her, “What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking that you do not give a damn if I am a queen, that you would see me content at Rootless Isle, perhaps even raised to the rank of Lady. I am thinking you don’t really care very much if Bohemond gets a wife or no.”

“I pity Bohemond’s wife,” Queen Hermudis said. “I lost the raising of him and blame myself. Pleasure is pleasure, but no sooner is a wench hired to the palace than he’s mounted her. It’s a wonder…. Well, not a complete wonder, that there are no bastards.”

“Have you bewitched him?”

“I will not speak of that,” the Queen, who had also been schooled on the Witch’s Island, said. “I would have wed him off to a Dauman lady. But I received a letter from Ohean.”

“Ohean Penannyn?”

“Well, there is no other. He said that Anthal was soon to die. Anson would not be King. Indeed, that he would probably flee with him, but that he thought you should marry Cedd.”

“Cedd hates witches! Everyone knows that.”

“Aye, but no one knows you are one. Ohean has said he has seen desperate times and that you might prove a fit Queen to rescue Westrial from them, rescue all the kingdoms. You might prove far more useful there than on the Rootless Isle.”

Isobel nodded as they walked, almost scowling.

“But then there is this matter… do you wished to be useful, used?”

“What would you have me do, Mother?”

“I would have you come to Westrial with me and judge for yourself. Judge as if you had not heard what I just told you. Meet this Prince Cedd and decide for yourself. I think this is all Ohean is asking of you.”

Isobel nodded, not speaking for a time. At last she said, “I will do this.”

“We can leave the day after tomorrow,” The Queen said.

“No,” Isobel differed. “If we’re going to go and reach Kingsboro on time, we ought to leave tomorrow.”