Free The Born Queen by Greg Keyes Page B

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    “Majesty,” he said. “Duke Artwair of Haundwarpen begs a word.”
    “Yes, of course; send him in.”
    A moment later the duke appeared, an imposing man with steel-gray eyes and close-cropped hair. One of his hands was made of wood.
    “Majesty,” he said, bowing.
    “Cousin, it’s good to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
    He smiled uncomfortably. “I was riding in the area.”
    “That’s an odd coincidence. This place is rather out of the way.”
    “Indeed. I was riding in the area because reports were that you were here.”
    “I see. You’ve come to collect me. Is that it?”
    “You are the empress,” Artwair said, “I cannot ‘collect’ you. But you are needed in Eslen. Your people need you on your throne.”
    “My people have seemed rather pleased to see me freeing their towns from torture and oppression.”
    “Yes, I agree. Your…adventures…have made you very popular. But now some begin to wonder if you are neglecting the larger issue of the war that seems sure to come.”
    “I’ve you to general my army.”
    “And you’ve an army to do the sort of thing you’ve been risking your life at these last few months. And this place—why did you come here? A monastery in the country, not so far from the Hansan border. Have you any idea how exposed you are here?”
    Anne nodded. “I won’t be here long. And this is the last.”
    “The last what?”
    “The last of my ‘little adventures,’ as I was just telling Cazio. When I’m done here, I’ll return to Eslen, I promise.”
    “Well, you’ve reduced the place,” Artwair pointed out. “What more did you have in mind?”
    “Don’t you know where we are?” Anne asked. “The saint this faneway is dedicated to?”
    The duke’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t—”
    “Why wouldn’t I?”
    “B-because that is the business of the Church,” Artwair sputtered.
    “A Church I have stripped of authority in my kingdom,” she pointed out. “Of temporal authority, yes,” Artwair said. “But this is different. Here you are definitely stepping into the realm of the sacred.”
    Anne shrugged. “So be it. The Church abused the boundaries first, not me.”
    “I don’t understand,” Cazio said.
    Anne turned to him. “This monastery is committed to Saint Mamres, the bloody saint of war,” she said. “His faneway is here. As we control it now, the Church will be making no new warrior-monks. And indeed, perhaps I will make a few of my own.”
    Artwair’s face was still red, but the expression on it was turning thoughtful.
    “It’s an interesting idea,” he said, “but a dangerous one. Forget the ire of the Church—”
    “Done,” Anne pronounced.
    “Well. Forget it, then. But you aren’t the first worldly ruler to try this, you know. Twenty years ago, Marhgreft Walis bribed the monks to let his bodyguard walk this faneway.”
    “And?”
    “There were ten of them. Seven died walking it. Another went mad immediately.”
    “And the other two?”
    “Were very good bodyguards. But the sacrifice—”
    “Even bribed, I expect, the monks were loath to give up the power they guarded,” Anne said. “I imagine they neglected to mention some sacaum or such that needed doing. We have a few of them to question on the matter, so we won’t be missing any information.”
    “I’m just urging caution, Majesty.”
    “I know. But the enemy has Mamres monks and knights that cannot die and other monsters in number. I feel we need some of the same benefits.”
    “Nor do I dispute it. Just be cautious.”
    “I shall. And then I shall return to Eslen, I promise you, Cousin.”
             
    Artwair left, and Cazio stayed close on his heels, looking more than a little relieved to be leaving her presence. She poured herself more wine, took a swallow, and went to the window.
    “What have I done?” she whispered to the faintly visible evening star. She closed her eyes, but lightning seemed to flash there and made her mind