The Curse of Chalion - Lois McMaster Bujold [122]
Gravely, Iselle granted her royal permission. Cazaril, quick to catch the undertone in Palli’s voice, led him not to his office antechamber but all the way down the stairs to his own chamber. The corridor was empty, happily. He closed his heavy door firmly behind them, to thwart human eavesdroppers. The senile spirit smudges kept their confidences.
Cazaril took the chair, the better to conceal his lack of grace in movement. Palli sat on the edge of the bed, folded his cloak beside him, and clasped his hands loosely between his knees.
“The daughter’s courier to Palliar must have made excellent time despite the winter muds,” said Cazaril, counting days in his head.
Palli’s dark brows rose. “You know of that already? I’d thought it a, ah, quite private call to conclave. Though it will become obvious soon enough, as the other lord dedicats arrive in Cardegoss.”
Cazaril shrugged. “I have my sources.”
“I don’t doubt it. And so have I mine.” Palli shook his finger at him. “You are the only intelligencer in the zangre that I would trust, at present. What, under the Gods’ eyes, has been happening here at court? The most lurid and garbled tales are circulating regarding our late Holy General’s sudden demise. And delightful as the picture is, somehow I don’t really think he was carried off bodily by a flight of demons with blazing wings called down by the Royesse Iselle’s prayers.”
“Ah…not exactly. He just choked to death in the middle of a drinking fest, the night before his wedding.”
“On his poisonous, lying tongue, one would wish.”
“Very nearly.”
Palli sniffed. “The lord dedicats whom Lord Dondo put in a fury—who are not only all the ones he failed to buy outright, but also those who’ve grown ashamed of their purchase since—have taken his taking-off as a sign the wheel has turned. As soon as our quorum arrives in Cardegoss, we mean to steal a march on the chancellor and present our own candidate for Holy General to Orico. Or perhaps a slate of three acceptable men, from which the roya might choose.”
“That would likely go down better. It’s a delicate balance between…” Cazaril cut off, loyalty and treason. “Too, dy jironal has his own powers in the temple, as well as in the Zangre. You don’t want this infighting to turn too ugly.”
“Even dy Jironal would not dare disrupt the temple by setting soldiers of the son upon soldiers of the daughter,” said Palli confidently.
“Mm,” said Cazaril.
“At the same time, some of the lord dedicats—naming no names right now—want to go farther. maybe assemble and present evidence of enough of both the Jironals’ bribes, threats, peculations, and malfeasances to Orico that it would force him to dismiss dy Jironal as chancellor. make the Roya take a stand.”
Cazaril rubbed his nose, and said warningly, “Forcing Orico to stand would be like trying to build a tower out of custard. I don’t recommend it. Nor will he readily be parted from dy Jironal. The Roya relies on him…more deeply than I can explain. Your evidence would need to be utterly overwhelming.”
“Yes, which is part of what brings me to you.” Palli leaned forward intently. “Would you be willing to repeat, under oath before the daughter’s conclave, the tale you told me in Valenda about how the Jironals sold you to the galleys?”
Cazaril hesitated. “I have only my word to offer as proof, Palli. too weak to topple dy Jironal, I assure you.”
“Not alone, no. But it might be just the coin to tip the scale, the straw to light the fire.”
Just the straw to stand out from all the others? Did he want to be known as the pivot of this plot? Cazaril’s lips screwed up in dismay.
“And you’re a man of reputation,” Palli went on persuasively.
Cazaril jerked. “No good one, surely…!”
“What, everyone knows of Royesse Iselle’s clever secretary, the man who keeps his own counsel—and hers—the Bastion of Gotorget—utterly indifferent to wealth—”
“No, I’m not,” Cazaril