HIS FACE HADgrown sharper over the last decade of his life, a life filled with revelations and disappointments, with following a path that he truly believed would lead him to God but then had taken a sharp and unexpected turn with the revelations of the covenant of Avelyn. That covenant, the cure for the rosy plague, had effected some changes in Fio Bou-raiy, the most powerful master of St.-Mere-Abelle, perhaps the third most powerful man in the Abellican Church behind Father Abbot Agronguerre and Abbot Olin of St. Bondabruce in Entel. Fio Bou-raiy had been dead set against the Abellican brothers going out of their abbey-fortresses to meet with the infected populace, had even chided and chastised Brother Francis when the monk, unable to bear the cries of the dying outside St.- Mere-Abelle's great walls, had taken a soul stone in hand and gone out to the crowd, offering whatever comfort he might, and, in the end, sacrificing his own life with his valiant but futile attempts.
But then Jilseponie had found the cure at the arm of Avelyn, the former brother who would soon be sainted, a man of compassion. Too much compassion, in the eyes of the many of the brothers, including the former father abbot Dalebert Markwart, who had presided over most of Fio Bou- raiy's higher-level training. In the present world, it seemed very easy to make the case that Avelyn was right and that his followers, in striving for a more compassionate and generous attitude of Church to its flock, were following the desires of God, as was shown by the covenant itself.
Master Fio Bou-raiy could live with that possibility, for it did not make his entire life a lie, as it surely had that of Markwart and his more fanatical followers, such as Master De'Unnero. Indeed, in the years since the covenant, Bou-raiy's position of authority in the Church had only strengthened. Father Abbot Agronguerre was an old, old man now, in failing health and with failing mental faculties as well. It fell to the masters around Agronguerre to guide him through his duties; and leading that group was Fio Bou-raiy, who often shaped those duties, those speeches and prayers, in a direction favorable to Fio Bou-raiy.
Despite all that, though, Bou-raiy's road of ascension was not without bumps. He had been offered the abbey of St. Honce by Agronguerre after interim abbot Hingas had died on the road to the Barbacan in pilgrimage to the arm of Avelyn. But Fio Bou-raiy had refused, setting his eyes on a higher goal and thinking that goal more attainable if he remained near the Father Abbot. For that was the position Fio Bou-raiy coveted, and the inevitable election following Agronguerre's seemingly imminent death would likely be his last chance.
And so he had thought that everything was moving along smashingly, but then, in one of his rare lucid moments, old Agronguerre had surprised Bou-raiy, and all the other masters in attendance, by announcing that he would not name Fio Bou-raiy as his successor. In fact, Agronguerre would name no one, though he had admitted that he hoped it would fall to Abbot Haney, his successor at St. Belfour, though the man was far too young to be nominated. "I will have to live another decade, I suppose," Agronguerre had said in a voice grown thin and weary, and then he had laughed at the seemingly absurd notion.
The stunning denial of Bou-raiy had surprised everyone at St.-Mere- Abelle and had made those masters who understood the process and the implications very afraid. If not Bou-raiy, then certainly the position would fall to the only other apparently qualified man, Abbot Olin, and that, none of the masters of St.-Mere-Abelle wanted to see.
Indeed, the only men in all the Church with the credentials to challenge Olin were Bou-raiy or perhaps Abbot Braumin Herde of St. Precious. And Braumin faced the same problems as did Abbot Haney, for he, like so many of the new abbots and masters of the Abellican Order, did not have the experience to win the votes of the older masters and abbots, even those who were not overfond of Abbot Olin.
So it was with a lot weighing on his mind that Fio Bou-raiy had come to Palmaris this spring, ostensibly to be in attendance at the dedication of the Chapel of Avelyn in Caer Tinella, but in truth so that he could spend some quiet time with Abbot Braumin and his cronies, to win them over, to secure some votes.
He cut a striking figure as he walked off the ferry that crossed the Masur Delaval from Amvoy, with his narrow, hawkish features, his perfectly trimmed silver-gray hair, and his orderly dress, with the left sleeve of his dark brown robe tied at the shoulder. As he made his way along the busy docks of Palmaris, children shied away from him, but to Fio Bou-raiy that seemed more of a compliment, a granting of proper respect, than anything else. He would rather have respect than friendship from another person any day, whatever their age.
He brought with him an entourage of a half dozen younger brothers, marching in two orderly lines a respectful three steps behind him. He listened to the chatter on the streets as they made their way toward St. Precious; and all that gossip, it seemed, centered on King Danube Brock Ursal's courtship of Baroness of Palmaris, Jilseponie Wyndon.
Fio Bou-raiy did well to hide his smile at that news. He had known, of course, of the budding relationship long before he had come to Palmaris, and he had thought long and hard about how it might benefit him in some way. Jilseponie was a friend of the Church, of Abbot Braumin at least. Would it suit Fio Bou-raiy's designs to have her sitting on the throne in Ursal? Or might he even take that to a second and equally important level?
Yes, it was hard to hide his smile.
King Danube was a fine rider. He brought his horse right across the track cutting off Jilseponie on Greystone.
She pulled up hard on the reins, and Greystone skipped and hopped, even reared, neighing and grunting complaints all the while. Jilseponie thought to echo the horse's complaints, but Danube's laughter diffused her protest before it could really begin.
"And you tried to pawn that one off on me, insisting it was the better horse!" Danube said with a snort, and he urged his steed on. The horse lowered its head and its ears and galloped full out across the wide fields of the grounds behind Chasewind Manor.
Caught by surprise, by both his action and his attitude, Jilseponie couldn't find the words to respond. She stammered a few undecipherable sounds, then simply took up the challenge and touched her heels to Greystone's flanks.
The palomino leaped away. Once Greystone had been the favored riding horse of Baron Rochefort Bildeborough and not without reason. The horse was more than twenty years old now, but how he could still run! He stretched out his graceful and powerful neck, lowered his ears, and thundered on, gaining on Danube and the smaller gray with every long and strong stride.
"Tried to pawn you off, indeed!" Jilseponie said to the horse. "Show him!"
And Greystone did, gaining and then overtaking the King and the gray - of course, it didn't hurt that King Danube outweighed Jilseponie by a hundred pounds!
Still, the grace and ease of both rider and horse could not easily be dismissed. They seemed in perfect harmony, the rider an extension of the horse, the horse an extension of the rider. So smoothly and so beautifully they ran, and as they flowed by King Danube, so, too, flowed away Jilseponie's anger at the man. For Danube was grinning, telling her that it had all been a tease. When she thought about it, she came to realize that the King, in cutting her off so suddenly, had paid her an incredible compliment as a rider, had trusted her abilities and had not thought to protect her from potential harm, as so many others often tried to do.
Thus it was with a smile of her own that Jilseponie eased her horse into a canter and then a swift trot. She turned him as King Danube came trotting up to her, the long expanse of the field behind him.
"I told you that Greystone was the finest in all the stable," she explained.
"Even at his age," King Danube said, shaking his head. "He is indeed an amazing creature. As fine a horse as I have ever seen - except, of course, for one other, for that magnificent stallion, Symphony . . ." Danube's voice trailed off as he finished the thought, and he looked at Jilseponie with alarm.
He knew that he had rekindled painful memories, she realized; and indeed he had brought Jilseponie's thoughts careening back to her wildest days -storming through the forests with Symphony and Elbryan, killing goblins and powries and giants. She tried to keep the pain from showing, but an unmistakable shadow clouded her blue eyes. She hadn't seen Symphony in a long time - not since her last visit to Elbryan's cairn the previous summer.
Elbryan's cairn. His grave. Where he lay cold in the ground while Jilseponie rode wildly about the countryside accompanied by another man.
"My pardon, dear woman," Danube said solemnly. "I did not mean - "
Jilseponie stopped him with an upraised hand and a genuinely warm expression. Her memories were not King Danube's fault, after all, nor his responsibility. As he did not treat her as physically delicate, so she did not want him to treat her as emotionally delicate. "It is all right," she said quietly, and she tried very hard to mean those words. "It is time for me to truly bury the dead, to dismiss my own selfish grief, and take heart in the joys that I knew with Elbryan."
"He was a fine man," said Danube sincerely.
"I loved him," Jilseponie replied, "with all my heart and soul." She looked King Danube directly in the eyes. "I do not know that I will ever love another like that," she admitted. "Can you accept that truth?"
That set Danube back, and his mouth dropped open in surprise at her bluntness and honesty. Yet his expression fast changed back to a warm and contented look. "You do me great justice and honor in speaking so truthfully," he said. "And I am not ignorant of your situation, for I, too, once loved another deeply. I will tell you of Queen Vivian, I think, and perhaps this very night."
He ended with a lighthearted expression, but Jilseponie's stare did not soften. "You did not answer my question," she said.
King Danube took a long and deep breath, sighing away his exasperation at being put on the spot. "You ride Greystone," he said. "Can there be any doubt that you and the horse have formed a very special and magical bond?"
Jilseponie looked down at her mount and his golden mane.
"Have you ever known a finer, a greater, horse than Symphony?" King Danube asked her.
Jilseponie looked at him incredulously. "No, of course not," she said.
"And yet you are content - more than content! - with Greystone," said the clever King. "Correct?"
That brought another smile to Jilseponie's fair face, and Danube's heart leaped when he saw the glow there.
"Greystone is the swifter," Danube said suddenly, whirling his mount the other way. "But he is too old for another run!" And with that, the King and his young stallion thundered back toward the distant Chasewind Manor. "You will not win the race this time!" came his trailing call.
Jilseponie could not argue the truth of his words, for Greystone was indeed breathing heavily. He could not pace the younger stallion again -not in a fair race.
So Jilseponie decided not to make it fair. The field was not straight but bent subtly to the right around a growth of trees.
Into those trees went Jilseponie and her horse, a run they knew well, one full of fallen trees that had to be jumped, but one much shorter than the course King Danube had taken.
Danube's surprise was complete, then, when he rounded the last bend only to find Jilseponie and Greystone ahead of him, running easily and with victory well in hand.
King Danube laughed aloud at the sight and felt warm watching the beautiful woman, her thick blond hair shimmering in the sunlight. He hadn't exactly lied when he had mentioned the similarities of their emotional states concerning dead past lovers, but he knew, though he wouldn't openly admit it, that there was one very profound difference. Danube Brock Ursal had loved Vivian, the woman he had made his queen when he was a young man, but he had not loved her the way he now loved Jilseponie. Everything about this woman - her beauty, her graceful movements, her courage and cunning, her words, even her thoughts - called out to his heart, made him feel young and vibrant, made him want to race a horse across a sun-speckled field or sail his ship around the known world. Everything about Jilseponie invaded his every waking moment and his every dream. No, he had loved Vivian but not like this, not with this intensity and hopeless passion. Could he be satisfied considering that Jilseponie had just admitted - and truthfully, he knew - that she could never love another as she had loved Elbryan? Would half her affections be enough for him?
They would have to be, Danube admitted to himself, for in looking at Jilseponie Wyndon, at this woman who had stolen his heart and soul, King Danube Brock Ursal knew that he had no choice. In looking at her, in listening to her every word and every sound, King Danube had to believe that half her affections were half more than he deserved.
"She resists," Fio Bou-raiy remarked as he sat with Abbot Braumin atop the high gate tower of St. Precious. Master Viscenti had been with them, but Bou-raiy had sent him away on an errand - an errand, Braumin realized, that had been fabricated so that he and Bou-raiy could be alone.
"She resists because she has known the truest love," Braumin replied, worried that Bou-raiy was somehow judging Jilseponie. "She had known the love of Elbryan, and little, I fear, can measure up to that."
"He is the King of Honce-the-Bear," came Bou-raiy's expected response. "He is the most powerful man in all the world."
"Even the King of Honce-the-Bear cannot shine brightly beside the one known as Nightbird," said Braumin. "Even the Father Abbot of the Abellican Order - "
"Beware your tongue," Fio Bou-raiy sharply interrupted; but he calmed quickly, his sharp features softening. "I know and admire your love and respect for this man, brother, yet there is no reason to step into the realm of sacrilege. You do him little justice by so elevating him above the realm of mortals. If the true exploits are not enough . . ."
"They are," Braumin assured the older master, though he was trying hard not to reveal his rising ire. "They are more than could be expected of any man, of any king, of any father ab - "
"Enough!" Fio Bou-raiy interrupted, and he laughed. "I surrender, good Abbot Braumin!"
That tone, even the friendly reference, caught Braumin Herde off guard, for it was certainly nothing that he had ever come to expect from Fio Bou-raiy! "You cannot blame Jilseponie, then, if her heart is not open to receive the attentions of another, king or not."
Bou-raiy nodded and smiled, offering a great sigh. "Indeed," he lamented, "but better for the kingdom if Jilseponie finds it in her heart to return the affections of King Danube."
Abbot Braumin stared at the master curiously.
"She is a friend of the Abellican Church," Fio Bou-raiy explained. "And in these times of prosperity and peace, the tightening of the bonds between Church and State can only be a good thing."
Abbot Braumin worked hard to keep the doubt from his face. He had known Fio Bou-raiy for many years, and while he, like so many of the Abellican brothers, had found an epiphany that had pushed him in a positive direction at the covenant of Avelyn, Bou-raiy was certainly self-serving. And he was ambitious, as determined to ascend to the position of father abbot as any man Braumin Herde had ever known. Was that it, then? Had Fio Bou-raiy come to Palmaris, speaking well of Jilseponie and of the possibility that she would one day become queen, in an effort to win over Braumin? For Masters Castinagis, Viscenti, and Talumus of St. Precious would likely follow Abbot Braumin's lead when it came time to nominate and elect a new father abbot.
"Perhaps in the spring," Braumin admitted a few moments later, and Fio Bou-raiy looked at him questioningly.
"Perhaps Jilseponie will find her way closer to King Danube in the spring of next year," Braumin explained. "She has agreed to travel to Ursal to summer next year, and that is perhaps an important step in the process that will put her on the throne of Honce-the-Bear."
Fio Bou-raiy sat back in his chair and mulled that over for a short while. "And do you believe that she will accept King Danube's proposal if and when it is given?"
Braumin shrugged. "I do not pretend to know that which is in Jilseponie's heart," he replied, "more than to say that her love for Elbryan has lasted beyond the grave. I do admire - and believe that Jilseponie does, as well - King Danube's patience and persistence. Perhaps she will find her way to his side. Perhaps not."
"You do not seem to prefer one way or the other," Bou-raiy observed.
Abbot Braumin only shrugged again, for that was an honest assessment of his opinion on this matter. He liked King Danube, and respected the way he had waited for Jilseponie, had allowed things to blossom according to her timetable instead of one that he could have easily imposed. But still, there remained within Braumin a nagging loyalty to dead Elbryan, and he could not help but feel some sense of betrayal.
Fio Bou-raiy sat back in his chair again, his slender fingers, nails beautifully manicured, stroking his angular chin. "Perhaps there is a way that we can effect the desired changes, whatever Jilseponie decides is her best course," he said at length.
Abbot Braumin's expression showed that he was uncertain about any such plan and that he did not completely trust the source, either.
"King Danube is in a fine mood, by all reports," Bou-raiy explained. "Perhaps he could be persuaded to agree to a slight change in the Palmaris hierarchy."
"How so?"
"A second bishop of Palmaris?" Fio Bou-raiy asked. "One more akin to King Danube's wishes than was Marcalo De'Unnero."
If Fio Bou-raiy had stood up, walked around the small table, and punched Abbot Braumin in the face, Braumin would not have been more stunned. "King Danube's mood can only be grand if he is in the company of Jilseponie," he replied. "But that does not mean he has forgotten the dark days of Bishop De'Unnero! Nay, nor would I desire such a post if you somehow persuaded King Danube to offer it. The duties of abbot of St. Precious are heavy enough, good brother, without adding the weight of the secular position."
Bou-raiy's expression was one of abject doubt. "You?" he asked, and he snorted. "Hardly would King Danube agree to that. Nor would the Church, though you are doing a fine job at your current post. Nay, Brother Braumin, I was thinking that perhaps the present abbot of St. Precious might move on to another, temporary position, to clear the path for my designs."
He had Braumin more horrified than intrigued, but the abbot held his objections and listened.
"We will soon consecrate the Chapel of Avelyn in Caer Tinella," Bou-raiy went on. "Not a major abbey as yet, of course, since the population is so small in that region, and it will take time for us to build a great physical structure. But neither of us doubts that Avelyn will soon be canonized - it seems to have come down to mere formalities now. So that particular chapel - soon to be abbey - might well become among the most important in all the world and will act as a gateway to the northlands, where many pilgrims still desire to travel so that they might kiss the mummified hand of Avelyn Desbris."
"You are asking me to surrender the abbey of St. Precious that I might go and preside over the Chapel of Avelyn?" Braumin asked skeptically.
"That would seem fitting," Fio Bou-raiy answered without hesitation. He shifted in his seat, causing the tied-off arm of his brown robe to flap forward noticeably. "Better that you, above anyone else in the world, preside as the initial parson of the chapel. Better that you, who has so offered his heart to Avelyn, longer than any brother in the Church, preside over the conversion from chapel to abbey."
The words sounded wonderful to Braumin Herde - on one level. It would indeed be an honor for him to oversee such attainments of glory for the memory of the dead hero, Avelyn. And in truth, he was growing a bit weary of his unending duties here in the bustling city, clerical work mostly, scheduling weddings and funerals and other such ceremonies. Caer Tinella might prove a welcome relief, as long as the reduction in responsibility was not accompanied by a reduction in rank and the appointment was temporary, with guarantees that Braumin would soon get back his post at St. Precious.
"It would not be a lasting appointment," Fio Bou-raiy assured him, as if reading his mind, "perhaps ending as early as this spring."
Braumin stared at the surprising man long and hard. None of this made immediate sense to him, but he knew Bou-raiy well enough to understand that there had to be layers of intrigue - and ones that would lead to personal gain for Bou-raiy - lurking beneath the surface. "You ask me to go north to Caer Tinella to clear the way for Fio Bou-raiy to assume power here in Palmaris?" he asked, thinking he had figured it all out.
Bou-raiy's laughter brought only more confusion to poor Braumin Herde.
"Hardly that!" Bou-raiy said with obvious sincerity.
"For even if I speak with King Danube," Braumin went on, "even if I implore Jilseponie to speak to him on your behalf and she agrees, I doubt that he will see the way clear for as dramatic a step as that. His first experience with a bishop was not a pleasant one. . . ."
Braumin's words trailed away as Fio Bou-raiy chuckled all the more. "I assure you that I have no intention of either seeking or accepting such a position, if it were offered by God himself," the master from St.-Mere- Abelle explained. "Nay, I have come to look in on you, to attend the opening of the Chapel of Avelyn as St.-Mere-Abelle's official emissary, and to see for myself the level of interest mounting between King Danube and Jilseponie. I will not remain in Palmaris for more than a couple of weeks after the dedication of the chapel, and my destination, without doubt, is St.-Mere-Abelle, where I will resume my duties as principal adviser to Father Abbot Agronguerre. I have no designs on Palmaris, Abbot Braumin, nor on your precious St. Precious!"
Braumin's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the man, finding himself lost in the seeming illogic of Bou-raiy's widening web. If not Braumin, if not Bou-raiy, then who did the man have in mind to preside over Palmaris? Master Glendenhook of St.-Mere-Abelle, perhaps, for he had ever been Bou- raiy's lackey. But still, that made no sense to Braumin, for what gain might that bring to Bou-raiy in his quest to become father abbot? Glendenhook already had a voice and a vote in any College of Abbots. And what chance, honestly, did they have of bringing Glendenhook, who was far from a diplomatic creature in any event, to such a powerful position? No, none of this made any sense to Abbot Braumin at that moment.
"King Danube would not agree to appointing another Bishop who served as an officer of the Church," Fio Bou-raiy explained. "Not after the debacle of Father Abbot Markwart and Bishop De'Unnero. But we may be able to court the King's desires by intimating that we believe his current secular power in Palmaris should assume both roles."
Braumin spent a moment digesting that, and unraveling it, and as he came to understand that Fio Bou-raiy, the stern master of St.-Mere-Abelle, had just said that he would agree to having Jilseponie, who was not even officially ordained into the Abellican Church, become, in effect, the abbess of St. Precious, the third most powerful abbey in all the Order, his eyes popped wide indeed.
"It makes perfect sense," Bou-raiy argued against that incredulous stare. "For the good of the Church and of the State. Jilseponie has proven herself an able secular leader, and her influence and ties within the Church cannot be denied. Nor will King Danube likely deny her the title, if we present the option to him. Indeed, he will either be thrilled to see that his court might be making inroads in the powers of the Church, or he will, at the least, be caught in such a terrible conflict between his heart and his head that he'll not dare oppose it."
"You assume that Jilseponie would desire the title," said Braumin, who was intrigued but far from convinced.
"I assume that you could make her desire it," Bou-raiy corrected. "If you present it to her as an opportunity to better the cause of Avelyn, she will likely accept. If you then elaborate it into the realm of her responsibility, out of common goals and her friendship with you, then she will embrace it wholeheartedly."
"You do not know that," Braumin calmly replied. "Nor do you truly understand Jilseponie."
"Nor do you know," Bou-raiy was quick to respond. "But we can find out, long before we approach King Danube with the offer. Consider it, brother, I pray you. You would be free to preside over the Chapel of Avelyn during this most important time, to oversee the chapel's growth to abbey, to assign the architects and the masons, even as you guide the elevation of Brother Avelyn to his rightful position of saint."
"You were never an admirer of Avelyn Desbris," Braumin reminded. "You stood with Father Abbot Markwart when he branded Avelyn a heretic, when he burned Master Jojonah at the stake." Despite his intended forceful countenance, Braumin's voice cracked as he finished the sentence, as his words brought forth images of that horrible injustice enacted upon his mentor and dearest friend, Master Jojonah of St.-Mere-Abelle. He had watched helplessly as Markwart and his cronies had condemned and then executed the man. And though many of those perpetrators, Fio Bou-raiy included, now disavowed the action and admitted their errors, images of that terrible day could not be erased from Abbot Braumin Herde's mind.
"I cannot deny or discourage Brother Avelyn's ascension," Bou-raiy admitted, "not after the revelations of his glory during the dark days of the rosy plague. I am neither the fool you think me nor so prideful that I cannot admit an error in judgment. We have come to learn that Father Abbot Markwart, and those who followed him, were in error - though whether that error was one of conscience and rightful, though errant, intentions is a debate that will linger for many decades to come," he quickly added, for Bou-raiy might admit a mistake of judgment but not one of open sin.
"It seems more than fitting that Abbot Braumin, who stood behind the followers of Avelyn at risk of his own life and who rode that victory to power . . ." Bou-raiy began.
Braumin bristled at the words.
"You cannot deny it," said Bou-raiy. "Nor should you. You chose your side correctly, and at great personal risk, and it is only fitting that you found reward for your judgment and your bravery. I do not deny you that. Nay, not for one moment, and now I offer you the chance to see your true calling - that of herald for Avelyn Desbris, and for Master Jojonah in the near future - through to completion."
That last tempting crumb, the possibility of further exonerating and glorifying Master Jojonah, was not lost on Abbot Braumin. Indeed, more than anything else in the world - more even than the canonization of Avelyn, whom Braumin did not really know - the abbot of St. Precious wanted to see his former mentor elevated to the status he so surely deserved. Given the chance to pick one or the other, Braumin Herde would pass over Avelyn for sainthood and grant it instead to Master Jojonah.
And Fio Bou-raiy obviously knew that.
"And why you would fear the ascension of Jilseponie, a woman you speak of in nothing short of reverent tones, to the position of bishop of Palmaris escapes me, dear abbot," Fio Bou-raiy went on.
"What escapes me is your reason for wishing her ascension," Braumin bluntly admitted.
"It seems prudent," Bou-raiy replied. "An opportunity we should not let pass us by. For King Danube is too smitten with the woman to deny her this, and while he might believe that he will thus be expanding his secular rule into the ranks of the Church by bringing a baroness into our ranks, in truth, both you and I know that appointing Jilseponie will have the exactly opposite effect. She is a baroness by title but an abbess at heart, as was shown by her work during the years of plague and by the simple fact that God and Avelyn chose her as the messenger of the covenant.
"King Danube will agree to it," Bou-raiy went on, "but bishop is no title that Jilseponie will hold for long, for when she at last decides upon the court of Ursal as her home, she will become queen, and her successor will be ours to approve or reject."
Braumin's face screwed up with curiosity as he tried to keep up with Fio Bou-raiy's plotting. The mere fact that this man could so readily place layers upon layers of intrigue together in such a seemingly simple manner raised more than a few hairs on the back of Braumin Herde's neck. Still, the logic of it all seemed irrefutable. Danube would likely agree to Jilseponie's rise to the position of bishop, and if she then went to Ursal to become his queen, the precedent for bishop would remain, and Danube might well agree to continue it. With Jilseponie's support, the next bishop would likely come from the Church instead of the secular realm.
"Bishop Braumin of Palmaris has a wonderful ring, does it not?" Fio Bou- raiy asked, his grin understated in that typically controlled manner of his. "Jilseponie will likely support it, even press for it, and King Danube, in his bliss over his impending marriage, will likely go along."
Abbot Braumin stared at the man for a long while, studying his every movement, trying hard to decipher all of this surprising information. "You believe that you tempt me, but in truth, you do not understand that which is in my heart," he said. "I care not for my personal gain above the well-being of my dearest friend, and I'll not submit her to any plotting that goes against that which is good for her."
"How can you believe that such an ascension will not prove beneficial to Jilseponie?" Fio Bou-raiy asked incredulously. "She has decided upon a life of service now, by her own words, and we might be able to bring her into a position to strengthen that potential immeasurably. You do not believe that she will see the benefit?"
"The benefit to Jilseponie or to the Abellican Church?" asked Braumin.
"To both," Bou-raiy answered, waving his arm in exasperation. "Though if the gain was only to the Church, then she should still be pleased to go along. As should you, and without this questioning! Your duty to the Abellican Church is clear, Abbot Braumin. Convince the woman to go along with this, to accept both titles unified into the position of bishop, until such time as she is betrothed to King Danube, should that come to be. That union will then bind Church and State more completely than they have ever been and will allow the good work of the Abellican Church to strengthen throughout the land."
"You will make of her a figurehead, at least on the side of the Church, with no real power within our patriarchal structure," Braumin accused. "You use her popularity for our gain and not her own. King Danube will indeed likely go along with your designs, for I, too, doubt that he will deny Jilseponie this opportunity; and playing on that goodwill might buy us a permanent position of bishop in Palmaris. Indeed, even without that continuance, the Church's gain will be great, for the mere association with Jilseponie will elevate the love of the common man for the Church greatly. And, no, Master Bou-raiy, I do not think that an evil thing. Yet I do fear so using my friends for gains to others. For Jilseponie, despite what you say, there will be little realized advantage. The Church side of the position of bishop, that as abbess of St. Precious, will afford her little real power, and none at all as soon as she relinquishes the position to go to the court at Ursal. No, for Jilseponie, bishop will prove an empty title, one bereft of any real power as soon as she leaves Palmaris."
Fio Bou-raiy was laughing loudly before Braumin even finished. "She will leave to become queen!" he argued, as if that alone should silence the abbot. "And you misweigh the situation. Popularity is power, my friend, and that is the simplest truth of existence, the one that those who are not popular try very hard, and very futilely, to disparage. Within Palmaris and without, Jilseponie will be able to exert great power and influence with her mere words, with hardly an effort. She will possibly one day be queen, and if we are wise and cunning, she will continue to hold a voice in the Church even then. I do not wish to use her popularity and her favor with King Danube and then discard her - far from it; for the loss then will be ours alone! No, my friend, I have come to believe that Jilseponie Wyndon has earned a voice in the Church, as bishop if we can effect that, and then beyond. Perhaps her role as queen will involve a position of power within St. Honce in Ursal. A sovereign sister appointment, perhaps even an appointment there as abbess, for surely there is no bounty of qualified brethren in that troubled southern abbey!"
Master Bou-raiy could have then pushed Abbot Braumin over with a feather, so stunned was he. His mind whirled and stumbled repeatedly over Bou-raiy's plans, for they made little sense to him. Even after the revelations of the covenant of Avelyn, even after the Church began to see Avelyn Desbris and his followers as true Abellicans, Fio Bou-raiy had done little to effect any real change within the entrenched power structure. Whenever Jilseponie's name had come up as a potential candidate to be lured into the Church - with the exception of bringing her in to head St. Gwendolyn Abbey, which was traditionally led by a woman -Bou-raiy had reacted with a scowl. And now here he was, pressing to bind her tightly to the Church's side.
"It will be unprecedented," Bou-raiy went on, "to have the reigning Queen of Honce-the-Bear hold a voice in the next College of Abbots, which, I assure you, will soon enough be convened, given Father Abbot Agronguerre's advanced age and ill health."
A voice in the College?Abbot Braumin silently asked himself. Or a vote in the College? Was that the true prize Fio Bou-raiy had traveled to Palmaris to secure? Did he think to mend old wounds in an effort to gather allies for himself in the next election for father abbot? But if that was the case, then why would he wish a voice for Jilseponie?
"Would not Master Fio Bou-raiy, who desires an election to father abbot, be better served without Jilseponie at the College?" Braumin asked bluntly. "It is well known that she favors others in the Church."
Fio Bou-raiy, always so in control, showed very little emotion at the blunt question, but revealed enough, a flash in his gray eyes, that Abbot Braumin knew that his straightforwardness had surprised the ever-plotting man somewhat.
"She favors others who are not yet ready to ascend to the position," the master from St.-Mere-Abelle answered with equal bluntness.
"You speak as if Father Abbot Agronguerre is already in his grave," said Braumin distastefully.
"Father Abbot Agronguerre is dead in every way but the physical," said Bou-raiy. Though his words were callous, Abbot Braumin found it hard to fault him, for there was - quite unexpectedly - a hint of sympathy and compassion in his often cold voice. Perhaps the years with Agronguerre, a gentle man by all accounts, had rubbed off well on Fio Bou-raiy.
"He remembers little, sometimes not even his own name," Bou-raiy went on quietly. "He has been an exemplary father abbot - better by far than I would ever have believed possible, for I was no supporter of his election those years ago - but his time with us is not long, I am sure. A few months, a year or two, and no more. I say that not from eagerness to ascend, though I do believe myself the best qualified to succeed Father Abbot Agronguerre, but merely because it is the truth, one well known among the brethren of St.-Mere-Abelle, who witness the man's decline every day."
Abbot Braumin sat back in his chair and began tapping the ends of his fingers together, studying Fio Bou-raiy, trying to sort through it all. Was he trying to persuade Braumin, hoping to win the voting bloc that would likely include Viscenti, Castinagis, Talumus, and Master Dellman of St. Belfour, and might perhaps even take in Abbot Haney of that northern abbey? Though he had been in St. Belfour for several years, Dellman remained loyal to Braumin Herde and the friends he had left behind at St. Precious. Haney, a young abbot who had succeeded Agronguerre in St. Belfour, might well look to the more worldly Dellman as a guide for his vote.
But where did Fio Bou-raiy think Jilseponie might fit in? Was he merely hoping to win over Braumin by seemingly favoring her? Or did he truly wish to have her voice heard at the College?
Then it hit Braumin completely, as he considered Fio Bou-raiy's only real competition for the highest office. For Bou-raiy was correct, of course, in saying that Braumin Herde was too young and inexperienced to ascend. And given the swift decline of Marcalo De'Unnero; the tumult within St. Honce, with a new abbot yet again; the extreme weakness within St. Gwendolyn after the depredations of the plague in that particular abbey; and the fact that both St. Precious and St. Belfour were now headed by abbots - Braumin and Haney - much too young to try for the position of father abbot, only one of the older masters and abbots stood out for his accomplishments and leadership: Abbot Olin of St. Bondabruce in Entel. Olin had been a serious rival of Agronguerre's for the title at the College of Abbots a decade before, and in recent years the southern abbot's position had only strengthened and solidified. But Olin had one weakness, one dark mark to hinder his ascension, one that the supporters of Abbot Agronguerre had used to great effect against him in the last election: he was tied to the southern kingdom of Behren more intimately than any Abellican abbot had been in centuries. Honce-the-Bear and Behren weren't at war, certainly, but neither were they the best of neighbors. Furthermore, the Abellican Church and the yatol priests of the southern kingdom had never been on friendly terms. Olin presided over his abbey in Entel, the southernmost Honce-the-Bear city, a thriving port only a short boat ride around the Belt-and-Buckle mountain range from Jacintha, the capital city of Behren, the seat of the Chezru chieftain who led the yatols. Olin's ties to the strange customs of Entel had always been uncomfortable for the Abellican Order, but his closeness to Behren had often been the source of absolute distress for King Danube Brock Ursal.
Jilseponie would be queen, Master Bou-raiy was obviously thinking, as were most observers, and as such, she would be sensitive to King Danube's desires and political needs. Having Olin as father abbot of the Abellican Church would not sit comfortably with King Danube, no doubt; and so Jilseponie would be pushed into the voting bloc of Master Bou-raiy.
What a cunning plan! Braumin had to admit, and he found that he wasn't upset with Bou-raiy at all for such plotting; in fact, he found that he rather admired the man's tenacity and political adeptness. Being father abbot was a matter of juggling the needs of the Church and the demands of the King, after all. It was a political position as much as anything else - despite Agronguerre's refusal to work hard in any political role. Traditionally, most father abbots had kept close consult with the reigning King.
Having Jilseponie become bishop then - and thus pleasing Braumin and several others - would prove very beneficial to Fio Bou-raiy at the College of Abbots, especially if she did indeed become Queen of Honce-the-Bear. Though Jilseponie was no fan of Fio Bou-raiy, neither was she an enemy, and any wife of Danube would have to favor him over Abbot Olin and his many Behrenese friends.
In truth, Abbot Braumin didn't much like the implications of Fio Bou- raiy's scheme, and using Jilseponie in any way certainly left a bitter taste in his mouth. But he had to admit, to himself at least, that in many ways Bou-raiy's plan seemed for the good of the Church and the State. At that point, despite any personal misgivings, Braumin could only look with favor at the appointment of Jilseponie to the position of bishop of Palmaris and his own transfer to preside over the opening and ascension of the Chapel of Avelyn.
"You will convince her?" a smiling and confident Bou-raiy asked, seeming as if he had watched Braumin wage his inner struggle and come out on Bou- raiy's side.
Abbot Braumin paused for a long while, but did eventually nod his head.