Chapter 13 Part 1 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1
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Temmin vacillated several times before Farrday's overnight visit to the Lovers' Temple. He talked himself back into it each time with a combination of wrath against his father, desire, pride, and the memory of the tiny voice in the stillness of the chapel.
On the dreaded and anticipated day, he took out his nerves on Jebby's legs, riding hard over the countryside through the King's Woods into the unknown fields beyond--another thumbing of his nose. He'd been ordered to stay within the safe confines of the Woods, but today he was invincible. Jebby was less so; the hectic ride had left the big horse flecked with foam, and Temmin decided to leave him at home to rest rather than ride him into town.
Once breakfasted and dressed, Temmin's nerves overwhelmed his coordination; his hands shook too hard to saddle LeiLei, and he gave the task up to the grooms before he'd begun it. By the time he gave LeiLei's reins to one of the servants at the Temple's steps, he wished he were back home in bed with the curtains drawn. He trudged up the steps, Brother Mardus and a Guardsman flanking him; four Temple's Own crossbowmen and a supervising Brother crouched on the roof. He took off his hat and went inside.
Allis and Issak waited for him in the Great Hall, in a respectful circle of space left where the stream of worshippers parted around them. The soft waterfall of voices echoing against the rosy marble trickled away. Every face turned toward Temmin. A young man said, "It's him, Tess--is he...?" into the quiet.
"A word, Your Highness," said a rasping, cultivated voice. Temmin turned; the Duke of Litta stood to one side, rigid and disdainful.
Temmin stopped, uncertain. He'd been introduced to Litta--he'd danced at his ball--but he knew the Duke only casually. Even so, he crossed the floor, holding out his hand and projecting as much dignity and confidence as he could muster. "Good morning, Lord Litta," he said in his best imitation of his father.
Litta took his hand, and pulled him closer. "What I have to say is for your ears alone--for now."
Temmin let himself be led to an altar dedicated to the Wingèd Neya; he noted Mardus and four Temple's Own hovering nearby, out of earshot. "What may I do for you?" he said.
"You may stop this," Litta replied brusquely.
Temmin gaped briefly, but recovered and said, "I hardly see how this is your business, sir."
"It is the business of every noble in this land. You are making a grave mistake, and we are willing to go to some lengths to stop you."
Litta was the more powerfully built, but Temmin was taller; he took refuge in his height against the other man's intimidating manner, and pulled himself upright. "Exactly how far would that be--hang on," he said, his temper rising, "are you threatening me? In the Temple?"
"Threatening you? No. I am a loyal subject of His Majesty, and bear scars endured in the King's service," bowed Litta. "But you are aware of the prophecy, 'When Nerr gets the Heir,' as the vulgar people summarize it?"
"What of it? I'm amazed you believe in it. And even if it is true, why would the country's prosperity be bad for the nobility?"
"Not the country's prosperity--the common people's prosperity. We are the country. They are our subjects. Should they prosper too much, they will begin to consider themselves our equals. Your Highness, if you take Supplicancy, you may bring down a thousand years of Tremontine rule."
"Prophecy is often misinterpreted," said Temmin, thinking of Warin's prophecy.
"I am not willing to gamble on that."
Temmin crossed his arms, his confidence less and less feigned as his temper rose. "And how do you propose to stop me?"
Litta flicked a glance over Temmin's shoulder. "From your behavior, I assume it's more than just a physical urge that leads you into the arms of the Embodiments." Temmin said nothing, his eyes narrowing. "Mm," murmured Litta. He gazed dispassionately at the twins, letting his words take their time. "I would imagine, then, that if they were harmed in any way--"
"If you or anyone acting on your behalf lay a finger on either of them, I will see the Brothers hang your head over Marketgate. Pagg damn me if I don't do it myself!" said Temmin.
"Keep your voice down, young sir."
"I remind you I am an adult, sir, and the Heir."
"If you are an adult, then you will understand that I don't have to lay a finger on them, sir."
Temmin stared into Litta's triumphant eyes, his confidence fading. "What do you mean?" he said.
"Word of the Obbys' past has reached me." Litta stepped closer. "If it got out, it would ruin them. They'd be cast out of the Temple. I dare say they'd have to return to their former profession."
"I'm sure the Temple knows what happened to them when they were children."
"Oh, of course. I can't imagine their sponsor kept it from the Most Highs, nor do I think it would have mattered. It doesn't matter to me--what happened to them is sad, really. Deplorable. But I wonder what the common people would think. The Obbys explained it all away to you, but they can't...charm...everyone in the kingdom, can they? It would ruin them," he repeated.
Temmin blanched. "This is blasphemy--are you a believer?"
"I care more about my children's inheritance than my soul." Litta smiled. "Do you think I wouldn't do it? If you take Supplicancy, I promise you, everyone in the City will know the day after Neya's Day. If you turn from the Temple, I promise you, no one will know other than the King and myself--and you. And you'll still be able to see the Obbys. Just not...right away. Do think on it, sir." Litta patted Temmin's shoulder, and strode out of the Temple with as close to a saunter as his military bearing would allow.
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