“Gorjah, Your Majesty?” Surprise startled the three-word question out of Gray Harbor, and Sharleyan actually chuckled.
“I do fully realize, My Lord, that King Gorjah isn’t particularly . . . well thought of here in Tellesberg, shall we say?”
Several of the other people seated around that table chuckled this time. The Kingdom of Tarot had been a Charisian ally for decades, and King Gorjah of Tarot had been obligated by treaty to come to Charis’ assistance against attack. Instead, he’d joined the “alliance” the Group of Four had hammered together for Charis’ destruction. And, unlike Sharleyan and Chisholm, there was precious little evidence that Gorjah had hesitated for a moment.
“All the same,” Sharleyan continued, her voice and expression both rather more serious and intent, “Prince Nahrmahn wasn’t very well thought of, either, and with a much longer history of enmity, at that. Eventually, we’re going to have to deal with Tarot, one way or another. It’s simply too close to Charis itself not to be dealt with, and it, too, is an island.”
Her eyes swept the council chamber once more.
“We lack the resources, the manpower, to establish a foothold on the mainland. Oh,” she waved one slender hand, “I don’t doubt we could seize a single port—like Ferayd, let’s say—and even hold it for an extended period of time. Given our control of the sea, we could support such a garrison indefinitely, and if the time came that supporting it seemed too costly, we would be well placed to withdraw. But we have neither the time, the manpower, nor the wealth to waste on such adventures.
“By the same token, however, we do control the sea, and if we lose that control, we’re all doomed, anyway. I think, therefore, that we should be making our plans on the basis that we will not lose control. Would you not agree with that, My Lords?”
Despite years of experience at the very highest levels of politics, Gray Harbor found himself forced to raise a hand to hide the smile he could not restrain as Empress Sharleyan’s councilors looked back at her and nodded like marionettes.
“Excellent, My Lords!” The empress’ white teeth flashed in a broad smile of her own. “If we’re in agreement upon that point, however, it would seem to me to follow that we should be seeking every opportunity to make use of our seapower. Admittedly, we must be careful not to overreach, yet anywhere there is a strip of seawater, that water belongs not to the Group of Four, but to Charis.”
Spines straightened subtly around the table, and Gray Harbor’s temptation to smile faded into sober appreciation of the empress’ skill, her grasp of her listeners’ psychology.
“We’ve already added Emerald—and Chisholm—” she allowed herself a more rueful smile, “to the Empire. By this time, I feel confident, His Majesty has done the same with Zebediah, as he will soon do with Corisande.”
Her smile disappeared completely with the final word, and her nostrils flared slightly as she shook her head.
“With the exception of Corisande, all of those other additions were accomplished reasonably peacefully, with little or no additional loss of life. And all of those lands will remain secure so long as Charisians remain masters of Safehold’s seas. As would Tarot. Inevitably, Tarot will be added to the Empire. In many ways, we have no choice in that regard, and I strongly suspect that King Gorjah understands that. Moreover, given the existence of the Tarot Channel and the Gulf of Tarot, we would be well placed to retain Tarot without greater effort than we would already be forced to expend to ensure the security of Charis itself. And at the same time, while I would never wish to appear too coldly calculating, let us not overlook the fact that Tarot’s proximity to the mainland would almost certainly make its conquest inviting to the Group of Four as a staging point for any future invasion of Charis. In short, it would provide a bait, a prize dangled before them to draw them out into the waters of the Channel and the Gulf where we could trim back their naval strength without risking the invasion of Charis itself, should they somehow manage to sneak past us.”
Gray Harbor felt his own eyes narrowing in appreciation of the empress’ analysis. Chisholm had become a significant seapower only during the reign of King Sailys, yet Sharleyan clearly appreciated the way in which the command of the sea, properly applied, could hold even the most massive land power in check. She understood, he thought—understood the mobility advantages, the defensive possibilities, the way in which seapower made the most economic use of available manpower practical.
“Under the circumstances,” the empress continued, “I believe it behooves us to think in terms of encouraging Gorjah to accept the peaceful amalgamation of his kingdom into the Empire. I would hope that the fact that Cayleb saw fit to marry one of his adversaries, and to unite our house by marriage with that of yet another of his adversaries, as well, would already suggest to Gorjah that a resolution which leaves him not simply with his head, but even his crown as our vassal, is within the realm of possibilities. If we can contrive to offer him further motivation to consider such an outcome, I believe we certainly ought to be doing just that. Would you not agree, My Lord Gray Harbor?”
“Most assuredly I would, Your Majesty.” Gray Harbor half-rose from his chair to bow to her across the council table. “It simply hadn’t occurred to me to consider it in quite the terms you’ve just used. Nor, to be frank, would it have occurred to me to consider whether or not what happened in Ferayd would be likely to affect his thinking.”
“Nor to me, I confess, Your Majesty,” Archbishop Maikel said, his expression wry. “Yet, now that you’ve mentioned it, I must admit your point could be very well taken. On the one hand, what Domynyk did to Ferayd must weigh in the thinking of anyone who finds himself opposed to Charis, especially if he has cities in reach of the sea. No one will want the same thing to happen to one of his seaports, after all.
“At the same time, however, there’s the moral dimension to consider, and despite his ready acquiescence in the Group of Four’s plans, King Gorjah has never struck me as being willfully morally blind. The evidence of the Inquisition’s direct and intentional complicity in the Ferayd Massacre, and our much more measured response to it, won’t be lost upon him. Coupled with your own marriage to His Majesty and the generous terms granted to Emerald, it is, in fact, very likely he would believe, on the one hand, that any terms you and His Majesty chose to offer him would be honored, and, on the other hand, that Ferayd proves you are not, in fact, the slavering monsters the Group of Four has sought to portray in its propaganda. And, for that matter, I have no doubt Gorjah will be personally revolted by Graivyr and his fellows’ gloating pride in their part in mass murder. I don’t say he’ll be inspired to spontaneously offer his allegiance to Charis, but I do think it’s entirely possible his mind will be inclined towards accepting Charis’ sovereignty when the time comes.”
“I hope you’re correct about that, Your Eminence,” Sharleyan told him. “And my point is simply that if you are, the time to begin preparing the ground is now.”
“As you say, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor replied.
“Excellent. Now,” she continued more briskly, “given Admiral Rock Point’s return, we find ourselves with considerably greater naval strength in home waters. It seems to me that it would be an unthrifty use of that strength to let it sit idle. I realize it’s winter, and that Charisians seem to lack a Chisholmian’s taste for winter weather,” she smiled, and this time one or two of the councilors laughed out loud, “yet it occurs to me that we might find employment for some of our cruisers completing the hunt for Delferakhan shipping wherever it may be found. In addition, however, I see no reason not to use some of them to make life as unpleasant as possible for the Group of Four in the Markovian Sea and the northern Gulf of Tarot, as well. I see no need to cast our net for Siddarmarkian merchantmen, or—especially—for those Charisian ships which seem to be flying Siddarmarkian flags these days. Nonetheless, all of our intelligence reports indicate that the Group of Four’s naval building programs are continuing to accelerate. I think it would be
an excellent idea to disrupt the flow of strategic materials.”
She turned her head to look at Ahlvyno Pawalsyn, the Baron of Ironhill. Ironhill was the Keeper of the Purse, effectively the treasurer of Charis.
“I see from the report you handed us yesterday, My Lord, that even though Clyntahn’s distrust for Siddarmark is excluding the Republic from their building programs, they seem to be buying a great many of the naval stores they need from Siddarmarkian sources?”
“That’s correct, Your Majesty,” Ironhill said. “And even more from Fallos.”
“Well, in that case, I believe we should do something about that. I don’t imagine any of those naval stores are moving in those Charisian ships flying Siddarmarkian flags?”
“Ah, no, Your Majesty,” Wave Thunder replied with a crooked grin. “I think the ‘owners’ of those particular ships feel it might be . . . impolitic. For that matter, it would appear Clyntahn’s distrust of Siddarmark extends to keeping Siddarmarkians as a group as far removed as possible from their shipbuilding projects. At any rate, Maigwair is using almost exclusively non-Siddarmarkian bottoms to move his more critical naval stores. In fact, his quartermasters are avoiding Siddarmark-owned ships even when that policy occasions significant delays in delivery times.”
“How very thoughtful of him,” Sharleyan murmured with a lurking smile. Then she straightened in her chair and glanced at Gray Harbor again.
“My Lord,” she said, “I realize we already have privateers operating in those waters. Nonetheless, I want you to instruct Admiral Rock Point to deploy as many of his cruisers as he deems prudent to those same waters with orders to take, burn, and destroy any shipping employed by Vicar Allayn and his associates on their naval projects.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Gray Harbor’s inclined head indicated as much approval of his instructions as obedience to them, and she smiled fleetingly at him.
“And if we’re going to employ our Navy most profitably, My Lord Ironhill,” she said, turning back to the Keeper of the Purse, “we’re going to have to come up with ways to pay for it. I’ve reviewed your latest revenue proposals, and I believe most of your points are well taken. However, I’d like you to consider in somewhat greater depth the possible impact on our own carrying trade of the new export duties you’ve sketched out. My concern is that although the rate doesn’t seem excessive, it will nonetheless drive up the prices our manufactories are forced to charge to foreign customers. At the moment, given the Group of Four’s efforts to close all mainland ports against us I’m loath to adopt any measure of our own which might chill our markets. And, to be honest, I think I’d prefer to avoid setting a precedent of export duties any sooner than we have to. Had you, perhaps, considered increasing import duties rather more, instead? I suspect we would be better placed to absorb even a substantial increase in the prices of luxuries, and more moderate increases in the cost of raw materials and foodstuffs, than we would be to absorb a drop in foreign demand for our own goods.”
Ironhill’s eyebrows arched in mingled surprise at her perceptiveness and respect for the point she’d raised, and Gray Harbor leaned back in his own chair with a faint smile. Ahlvyno Pawalsyn was one of his closer friends, and he respected the baron’s mind. At the moment, however, the Keeper of the Purse’s surprise frustrated the first councilor almost as much as it amused him.
Come on, Ahlvyno, he thought sardonically. You’re smarter than that. God knows, you’re ten times as smart as White Church, at any rate! I know she’s young, I know she’s foreign-born, and I know she’s female. But you—and the rest of the Council—better start figuring out that it’s entirely possible she’s even smarter than Cayleb, and at least as forceful. Because, trust me, anyone who doesn’t figure that out is really, really not going to enjoy what she does to him.
The earl propped his elbows on the arms of his comfortable chair, crossed his legs, and watched the young woman seated at the head of the table effortlessly controlling and directing almost twenty men, the youngest of whom was probably at least twice her own age.
Those idiots in Zion haven’t got the least idea of what they turned loose against themselves when they pissed her off, he thought gratefully and perhaps—just perhaps—a tiny bit complacently. They may think they’ve seen bad, already. They’re wrong about that, though. They haven’t even begun to see bad yet . . . but it’s coming.
“Did I push too hard, do you think, Your Eminence?” Sharleyan Ahrmahk asked much later that evening as Archbishop Maikel joined her for supper.
“At the Council meeting, Your Majesty?” Staynair chuckled and shook his head with a small smile. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure you stepped on a few male toes here and there, but I don’t think you trod on any that didn’t need stepping on. And even those who may still be inclined to discount your ideas because of your youth and sex seem to end up accepting their logic.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it as much back home in Cherayth,” she confessed, leaning forward to reach for her wineglass and then settling back in her chair once more. “Once upon a time I would have, of course, but I’ve had years to . . . polish my relationship with my Chisholmian Councilors.”
“ ‘Polish’?” Staynair repeated with a deeper chuckle. “Beat into submission is what you really mean, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Langhorne, no!” Sharleyan rounded her eyes and shook her head. “ ‘Beat into submission’ would be such an unladylike thing to do!”
“I think there’s a very unladylike element to your personality, Your Majesty,” Staynair replied. “And thank God for it!”
“So you don’t think I’m driving too hard to assert my own authority?” she asked more seriously. He crooked an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. “I’m not concerned about my own ability to control the situation, Your Eminence. I suppose what I’m really concerned about is whether or not I appear to be attempting to undercut Cayleb’s authority. Or, even worse, whether or not it turns out that, without meaning to, I actually am undercutting his authority.”
“Emperor Cayleb’s authority isn’t so fragile as all that, Your Majesty,” Staynair said dryly. “I think it will survive any unintentional chips or scratches you might inflict upon it—especially since it’s obvious to me that you have no intention of ‘usurping’ his authority. And, frankly, I believe the possibility that you might encroach upon his prerogatives—which, now that I think about it, would be difficult for you to do, since they happen to also be your prerogatives—is far less dangerous to us than it would be for you to begin vacillating, or hesitating, for fear of encroaching. Charis—the Empire, not simply ‘Old Charis’—needs a strong, firm hand on the tiller, especially now. And at this moment, that hand is—must be—yours.”
“I know,” she confessed, then sipped a little wine, as if buying time to sort through her own thoughts. “I know,” she continued, “and if I’m going to be honest, I suppose I should admit that there’s a part of me that doesn’t come truly alive except when I’m dealing with decisions that matter. I’ve often wondered if that’s the sin of pride speaking.”
“And have you discussed your concerns with Father Carlsyn?” Staynair asked in a slightly more neutral tone. Carlsyn Raiyz had been Sharleyan’s personal confessor ever since she ascended to the Chisholmian throne, but Staynair, for obvious reasons, had never even met the man before he arrived in Tellesberg at Sharleyan’s side.
“I have.” She smiled crookedly. “Unfortunately, he’s my confessor; I’m not his. He’s reassured me several times, and imposed a penance or two on the rare occasions—well, possibly not all that rare—when he felt I’d clearly stepped on someone harder than I had to. Confidence, he says, is a good thing in a ruler. Capriciousness isn’t.”
“Sound doctrine,” Staynair said with a smile of his own. “Good philosophy, too. And, if I may, Your Majesty, could I also ask you if you’ve discussed the schism with him?”
“Not the way we’ve discussed other concerns,” Sharleyan admitted,
her eyes darkening. “He hasn’t pressed me on it, which probably says a great deal, right there. But the truth is, I’m almost afraid to ask him how he feels about it. If he’s prepared to accept my decisions without openly condemning them, that’s better than some others have already done.”
Her voice was far more somber, and Staynair’s expression softened sympathetically.
“Your uncle, Your Majesty?” he asked gently.
Sharleyan’s head snapped up. She looked at him intently across the dinner table for several seconds, and then her firm mouth seemed to quiver for a moment.
“Yes,” she admitted softly, and the archbishop nodded.
Very few people in Charis had been particularly well acquainted with the internal political dynamic of Chisholm prior to Sharleyan’s marriage to Cayleb. Staynair certainly hadn’t been, but he’d made it a priority to learn all he could about that dynamic since. And one thing which had become abundantly clear to him was that the Duke of Halbrook Hollow had been far more than simply one of Sharleyan’s senior nobles. Indeed, he’d been more than “just” an uncle. As the commander of the Royal Army, he’d been her sword, even as Green Mountain had been her shield. And now . . .
“Your Majesty,” Staynair said after a moment, “it’s easier to command fleets and armies than to command the human heart. Your uncle has already discovered that, and if it should happen that it’s a lesson you haven’t already learned, then I fear it’s one you have no choice but to master now. I believe your uncle loves you. I don’t pretend to know him well, especially since he’s kept me—as all of the ‘Church of Charis’—at arm’s-length or beyond, but I believe he does love you. Yet you’ve asked him to accept something he can’t. When I look at him, I see a man grieving over his niece’s decisions, and one of the reasons he grieves is because he loves her.”