The Curse of Chalion

"You are a divine, a trained Inquirer. I didn't imagine you could, or would, evade your oaths and disciplines. You immobilized me to give yourself time to report, and confer." Cazaril hesitated. "That I am not presently under arrest should tell me... something about that conference, but I'm not at all sure what."

Umegat studied his hands, spread on his knees. "As a divine, I defer to my superiors. As a saint, I answer to my god. Alone. If He trusts my judgment, so perforce must I. And so must my superiors." He looked up, and now his gaze was unsettlingly direct. "That the goddess has set your feet on some journey on her behalf—courier—is abundantly plain from Her hour-by-hour preservation of your life. The Temple is at... not your service, but Hers. I think I can promise you, none shall interfere with you."

Cazaril was stung into a wail. "But what am I supposed to be doing?"

Umegat's voice grew almost apologetic. "Speaking just from my own experience, I would surmise—your daily duties as they come to you."

"That's not very helpful."

"Yes. I know." Umegat's lips twitched in a dry humor. "So the gods humble the would-be wise, I think." He added after a moment, "Speaking of daily duties, I must return now to mine. Orico is unwell today. Feel free to visit the menagerie anytime you are so moved, my lord dy Cazaril."

"Wait—" Cazaril held out a hand as Umegat rose. "Can you tell me—does Orico know of the miracle of the menagerie? Does he understand—does he even know he is accursed? I'll swear Iselle knows naught of it, nor Teidez." Royina Ista, on the other hand... "Or does the roya just know he feels better for contact with his animals?"

Umegat gave a little nod. "Orico knows. His father Ias told him, on his deathbed. The Temple has made many secret trials to break this curse. The menagerie is the only one that has seemed to do any good."

"And what of the Dowager Royina Ista? Is she shadowed like Sara?"

Umegat tugged his queue and frowned thoughtfully. "I could better guess if I'd ever met her face-to-face. The dy Baocia family removed her from Cardegoss shortly before I was brought here."

"Does Chancellor dy Jironal know?"

The frown deepened. "If he does, it was not from my lips. I have often cautioned Orico not to discuss his miracle, but..."

"If Orico has kept something from dy Jironal, it would be a first."

Umegat shrugged acknowledgment, but added, "Given the early disasters in his reign, Orico believes that any action he dares take will redound to the detriment of Chalion. The chancellor is the tongs by which the roya attempts to handle all matters of state without spilling his bane thereupon."

"Some might wonder if dy Jironal is the answer to the curse, or part of it."

"The proxy seemed to work at first."

"And lately?"

"Lately—we've redoubled our petitions to the gods for aid."

"And how have the gods answered?"

"It would seem—by sending you."

Cazaril sat up in renewed terror, clutching his bedclothes. "No one sent me! I came by chance."

"I'd like an accounting of those chances, someday soon. When you will, my lord." Umegat, with a deeply hopeful gaze that frightened Cazaril quite as much as any of his saintly remarks, bowed himself out.

AFTER A FEW MORE HOURS SPENT COWERING UNDER his quilts, Cazaril decided that unless a man could dither himself to death, he wasn't going to die this afternoon. Or if he was, there was nothing he could do about it. And his stomach was growling in a decidedly unsupernatural fashion. As the chill autumn light faded he crept out of bed, stretched his aching muscles, dressed himself, and went down to dinner.

The Zangre was extremely subdued. With the court plunged into deep mourning, no fêtes or music were offered tonight. Cazaril found the banqueting hall thin of company; neither Iselle's household nor Teidez's were present, Royina Sara absented herself, and Roya Orico, his dark shadow clinging about him, ate hastily and departed immediately thereafter.

The reason for Teidez's absence, Cazaril soon learned, was that Chancellor dy Jironal had taken the royse with him when he rode out on his mission of investigation. Cazaril blinked and fell silent at this news. Surely dy Jironal could not be attempting to continue the seduction by corruption his brother had taken so well in hand? Downright austere by comparison to Dondo, he had not the taste or style for such puerile pleasures. It was impossible to imagine him roistering with a juvenile. Was it too much to hope he might be reversing his strategy for ascendancy over Teidez's mind, taking the boy up after a true fatherly manner, apprenticing him to statecraft? The young royse was half-sick with idleness as well as dissolution; almost any exposure to men's work must be medicine for him. More probably, Cazaril thought wearily, the chancellor simply dared not let his future handle upon Chalion out of his grip for an instant.