The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [131]
“I don’t want to be cruel,” she finally said. It seemed the thing to say. “Do you really think letting them go is the right thing? Or is this just sentiment talking?”
“Majesty, for me this morning was all confusion. But the Hansan survivors speak of the sun blotting out, of blood and serpents raining from the sky. They saw their comrades’ steaming entrails writhe out of their bellies like boiling eels. I think that story from a thousand lips will be more valuable than their deaths.”
“Very well,” she sighed. “See to it, then. And now that we’re done here, I should like Copenwis back.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem now,” Artwair said. “Will Your Majesty be accompanying us?”
“No,” she said. “I think you might do this with the army, Artwair. I should like to return to Eslen for a time. But rest assured that when we march on Hansa, I will be with you.”
“March on Hansa, Majesty?”
“I don’t see any reason to let them try this again, ever. Do you?”
“I—no, Majesty,”
“Right. Tell my bodyguard I’ll ride to Eslen in two bells. And send word to Cape Chavel that I want him to join me there when he’s done with the army coming down the Dew.”
“There’s still the army of the Church in the south,” Artwair said.
“They have already withdrawn,” Anne said. “I’m not sure why. But send a few of the Hansan captives to them. Tell them that if they cross our border again, I’ll come do the same to them.”
Artwair nodded, bowed, and left.
Riding to Eslen, she met cheering crowds, but in the first few leagues it seemed to her there was an uneasiness in their plaudits, as if they feared she would kill them if they did not cheer. The nearer she got to Eslen, however, and the farther she got from the charnel fields around Poelscild, the less ambiguous the applause seemed. By the time she entered the city, she felt their joy and enthusiasm as absolutely genuine. Some were shouting “Saint Queen Anne,” and others were calling her “Virgenya II.”
She bathed and rested and the next morning took her breakfast with John in her solar, where he rattled off various household matters and gave her a sheaf of documents for her seal. He then sat back, looking a bit uncomfortable.
“What is it, John?” she asked.
“You’ve received a number of letters, Majesty, some important, most not. But there is one that I believe needs your immediate attention.”
“Really? Who is it from?”
“Our former praifec, Marché Hespero.”
She stopped with a scone halfway to her mouth. “You’re kidding,” she said.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Let me see it, then.”
He handed her the folded paper with the seal of Crotheny’s praifectur.
“Took it with him, I see,” she said. Then she opened the letter. It was written in a beautiful flowing hand.
To Your Majesty Anne I, Queen of Crotheny,
I hope this letter finds you well and in good keeping with the saints.
Time is pressing, so I must be blunt. I know I have been implicated in certain matters and that a general order for my arrest has been issued. I will not here argue the charges against me—I will save that for a later time. What I will tell you is that I have information you need. It concerns the power you no doubt feel growing in you, and most particularly it has to do with the emergence of a certain throne you may have heard of.
I also believe that it is important that there be peace between the Church and Crotheny, and healing. By the time you read this, you will find Church forces have all withdrawn beyond the Teremené. I await the pleasure of meeting with you personally. I am prepared to come to Eslen with as few companions as you name, or alone if that is your command.
Marché Hespero
Anne fingered the page, wondering if it might be impregnated with poison. But no, John had handled it before her.
“When did this arrive?” she asked.
“Yesterday, else I would have had it sent to you.”
She studied the words again, trying to figure out what was going on.
She had trusted Hespero growing up, had gone to him for lustration and advice. He had seemed wise, not particularly kind but not unkind, either.