Cayleb's mouth snapped shut.
Silence hovered once more in the sleeping cabin. A taut, singing silence, enhanced but not broken by the background sound of water sluicing around the hull, the bubble of the wake below the opened stern windows, the creak of rigging and hull timbers, and the occasional sound of the rudder.
"You can go to him?" Cayleb said finally.
"Yes," Merlin sighed.
"Merlin," Cayleb said, gazing at him levelly, "are you a demon, after all?"
"No." Merlin returned his gaze just as levelly. "I'm not a demon, Cayleb. Nor am I an angel. I told you that before, in King's Harbor. I'm-" He shook his head. "When I told you then that I couldn't explain it to you, I meant I literally can't. If I tried, it would involve . . . concepts and knowledge you simply don't have."
Cayleb looked at him for fifteen endless, tense seconds, his eyes narrow, and when he spoke again, his voice was very soft.
"Would that knowledge violate the Proscriptions?" he asked.
"Yes," Merlin said simply, and if he'd still been a creature of flesh and blood he would have held his breath.
Cayleb Ahrmahk sat very, very still, gazing at the being who had become his friend. He sat that way for a long time, and then he shook himself.
"How can you say you stand for the Light when your very existence violates the Proscriptions?"
"Cayleb," Merlin said, "I've told you before that I've never lied to you, even when I haven't been able to tell you all the truth. I won't lie to you now, either. And if there are still things I simply can't explain, I can tell you this: the Proscriptions themselves are a lie."
Cayleb inhaled sharply, and his head flinched back, as if Merlin had just punched him.
"The Proscriptions were handed down by God Himself!" he said, his voice sharper, and Merlin shook his head.
"No, they weren't, Cayleb," he said. "They were handed down by Jwo-jeng, and Tsen Jwo-jeng was no more an archangel than I am."
Cayleb flinched again, and his face was pale. Merlin's eyes-his artificial eyes-could see it clearly, despite the dim light.
"How can the Proscriptions be a lie?" the prince demanded hoarsely. "Are you saying God lied?"
"No," Merlin said again. "God didn't lie. Jwo-jeng lied when she claimed to speak for Him."
"But-"
Cayleb broke off, staring at Merlin, and Merlin held out his right hand, cupped palm uppermost.
"Cayleb, you know the men who currently rule the Temple are corrupt. They lie. They accept bribes. They use the Proscriptions to extort money out of people who try to introduce new ideas, or from people who want new ideas suppressed. You yourself told me, standing on top of the citadel with Rayjhis, that the vicars are more concerned with their secular power than with saving souls. They're willing to destroy your entire kingdom-burn your cities, murder and terrorize your subjects-when you've done nothing at all wrong! Is it so inconceivable to you that other men have also used God, and twisted His purpose, for ends of their own?"
"We aren't talking about 'men,'— " Cayleb said. "We're talking about the archangels themselves!"
"Yes, we are," Merlin acknowledged. "But the beings who called themselves archangels weren't, Cayleb. They were men."
"No!" Cayleb said, yet his voice's certitude wavered, and Merlin felt a small flicker of hope.
"If you want me to, I can show you proof of that," he said gently. "Not tonight, not here, but I can show it to you. You've seen the things-some of the things-I can do. The men and women who claimed to be archangels could do the same sorts of things, and they used that ability to pretend they were divine beings. I can prove that to you, if you're willing to let me. The problem, Cayleb, is that if your faith in the lie you've been taught all your life is too b, you won't believe any proof I could show you."
Cayleb sat motionless, his jaw clenched tightly and his shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow. And then, slowly-so slowly-his shoulders relaxed just a bit.
"If you truly are a demon, despite whatever you say," he said at last, "then you've already tempted me into damnation, haven't you?" He actually managed a twisted smile. "I've known for months now that you were more than mortal, and I've used you-and your . . . abilities-for my own ends and against the princes of the Church. And that's the definition of heresy and apostasy, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is," Merlin said, his voice as neutral as he could make it. "In the eyes of the Temple's present management, at least."
"But you didn't have to tell me you could warn Father, any more than you had to save those children in King's Harbor. Or to save Rayjhis from Kahlvyn. Or to lead me to Malikai's galleys, or into Crag Reach."
"I suppose not. But, Cayleb, if I were a demon out to tempt you into damnation, I'd do it by appealing to your desire, your need, to protect the people and kingdom you love. You aren't Hektor, or even Nahrmahn. I couldn't appeal to your greed, your hunger for power, so I'd tempt you through the goodness of your own heart, your fear for the things you care so deeply about."
"And probably tell me you would have done exactly that, on the assumption that I'd believe it proved you hadn't," Cayleb said, nodding with that same crooked smile. "But you missed my point. Perhaps you are a demon, or what the Writ calls a demon, at any rate. And perhaps you have tempted me-after all, you always told Father and me you were using us for your own ends. But if you've tempted me into the damnation of my soul, Merlin Athrawes, then so be it, because you've never asked me to do one single thing which wasn't what a just and loving God would have had me do. And if the God of the Writ isn't a just and loving God, then he isn't mine, either."
Merlin sat back in his chair, gazing at the young man in front of him. The young man, he realized, who was even more extraordinary than Merlin had believed.
"Cayleb," he said finally, "in your place, I doubt I could reach beyond everything I'd been taught the way you just have."
"I don't know if I really have," the prince replied with a shrug. "You say you can prove what you've said, and someday I'll hold you to that. But for now, I have to make decisions, choices. I can only make them on the basis of what I believe, and I believe you're a good man, whatever else you may be. And I believe you can warn my father."
"And how do you think your father will react if I suddenly simply appear aboard his flagship, four thousand miles from here?" Merlin asked wryly.
"I don't know," Cayleb said, then grinned suddenly, "but I'd dearly love to see his expression when you do!"
IV
The Cauldron
Merlin Athrawes lay stretched out, swooping up and down with the swell as he floated on his back, watching the moon.
Somewhere beyond his toes, invisible from his present water-level position, HMS Dreadnought and her consorts continued on their course, unaware one of their crewmen was missing. Hopefully, they'd stay that way.
This, he thought philosophically, gazing up at the stars, is probably the . . . least wise thing I've done yet. Aside from the krakens, maybe, anyway. No matter how well Cayleb took it, there's no way of telling how Haarahld is going to react.
Still, right off the top of his head, he couldn't come up with any alternative course of action which offered a better chance for Haarahld's survival.
In cold-blooded terms, now that he'd had a chance to think about things a bit more, it probably didn't matter to the long-term survival of Charis what happened to King Haarahld and his galleys. What Cayleb and Sir Domynyk Staynair had already done to one galley fleet promised they could do the same to another, if they had to. Especially one which was going to take losses of its own-serious losses-if it pressed an attack home against the Royal Charisian Navy. So even if Black Water succeeded in gaining control of the Charis Sea and Rock Shoal Bay, it would be only a temporary possession, lasting just long enough for Cayleb to get home and take them back again. And however badly Haarahld's death might hurt the rulership of Charis, Merlin felt confident of Cayleb's fitness to take the crown, especially with Gray Harbor and Wave Thunder to advise him.
But while Charis might survive King Haarahld's death, Merlin had discovered he wasn't prepared to do that himself. Or to see Cayleb forced to do it. Not without doing everything he possibly could to prevent it.
It was odd, he reflected as he rose high enough on the swell to glimpse the lights of one of the galleons in the distance, but when he'd first set out to shape Charis into the tool he needed, it hadn't occurred to him how close he might come to the Charisians themselves as people, as individuals he cared about. Haarahld Ahrmahk wasn't simply the King of Charis; he was also Merlin Athrawes' friend, and the father of another, even closer friend, and the man who had once been Nimue Alban had lost too many friends.
Is that the real reason I let Cayleb "talk me into" telling him I could do this in the first place? Or, he frowned as another thought occurred to him, was it because I'm so lonely? Because I need someone to know what I'm trying to do? How far from home I truly am? These people may be my friends, but none of them know who-or what-I really am. Do I have some sort of subconscious need to know that someone who considers me a friend knows the truth-or as much of the truth as he can comprehend, anyway-about me?
Perhaps he did. And perhaps that need was a dangerous chink in his armor. No matter how Cayleb, or even Haarahld, might react, the vast majority of Safeholdians, even in Charis, would, indeed, regard him as the very spawn of Hell if they discovered even a tenth of the truth about him. And if that happened, everything which had ever been associated with him would be tainted, rejected with horror. So, in the final analysis, if he allowed a need for friendship to lure him into revealing the truth to someone not prepared to accept it, or simply to someone who might inadvertently let the secret slip, everything he'd accomplished so far-and all the people who'd died along the way, and who were still going to die-would have been for nothing.
All of that was true. He knew that, but he wasn't prepared to psychoanalyze himself in an effort to parse his motivation, even assuming a PICA was subject to psychoanalysis. Because, in the end, it didn't matter. Whatever the reasons for it, this was something he had to do. Something he couldn't not do.
He rose to the top of another swell. This time, there were no lights in sight, and he gave a mental nod of satisfaction as he checked the overhead visual imagery being relayed from the stealthed recon skimmer hovering above him. The fleet was moving along nicely, drawing steadily further away from him as he floated alone in the immensity of the sea.
Getting someone off a crowded, cramped sailing vessel without being noticed, he'd discovered, was only marginally less difficult than he expected getting someone onto a crowded, cramped galley without being noticed to be. The fact that the full moon had risen now only made the task even more challenging.
Fortunately, he and Cayleb had already put a defense in depth into place, even if they'd never contemplated using it for exactly this purpose. Ahrnahld Falkhan, and the other members of Cayleb's Marine bodyguard detachment, all knew the "truth" about "Seijin Merlin." Every one of them knew Merlin had visions, and that it was necessary for him to retire and meditate in order to see them. And every one of them knew that concealing the fact of his visions from anyone outside King Haarahld's or Cayleb's innermost circle was absolutely essential.
And so, Merlin, as an officer of the Royal Guard and Cayleb's personal guardsman, had been provided with his own small private cabin. It was right aft, just below Cayleb's quarters. It even had its own stern window, and Falkhan and the other Marine sentries who guarded Cayleb were well placed to intercept anyone who might have disturbed the seijin during his meditations.
They were also well accustomed to leaving Merlin to those same meditations themselves. All of which meant it had been relatively simple for him to crawl through that window and lower himself hand-over-hand down a rope into the water. Once in the water, he'd submerged and swum the better part of a half-mile, then surfaced and waited while the fleet sailed past him.
He was down-moon from them, and he'd probably been far enough away when he surfaced that no one would have noticed anything, but he felt no great urge to take any chances. The night was as clear as only a tropical night could be, with glowing phosphorescence spilling back along the ships' sides as they sailed along the silver moon path, their canvas like polished pewter, their ports and scuttles glowing with the lamps and lanterns within. The odds against anyone happening to glance in exactly the right direction to see something as small as a human figure floating into the heavens was undoubtedly minute, but he had plenty of time. Certainly enough to avoid taking any chances.
Or, he corrected himself wryly, any more chances, at least.
He checked the visual imagery one last time, then activated his built-in communicator.
"Owl," he said, speaking aloud for a change, still contemplating Safehold's alien heavens.
"Yes, Lieutenant Commander?"
"Pick me up now."
"Yes, Lieutenant Commander."
V
HMS Royal Charis,
Charis Sea
King Haarahld VII waved his valet out the door.
"Are you sure you won't need me any more tonight, Sire?"
"Lachlyn, you've already asked me that three times," Haarahld said affectionately. "I'm not yet so feeble that I can't climb into bed by myself, even at sea. So go. Go! Get some sleep of your own."
"Very well, Sire. If you insist," Lachlyn Zhessyp said with a small smile, and obeyed the command.
Haarahld shook his head with a chuckle, then crossed the great cabin, opened the lattice-paned door, and stepped out onto Royal Charis's sternwalk.
He stood there, gazing off into the west, as if watching the setting moon slide the rest of the way below the horizon could somehow bring him closer to his son.
It was even harder being separated from Cayleb than he'd expected it to be. It wasn't like the year Cayleb had spent aboard ship as a midshipman. Then all he'd really had to worry about were the risks of disease, accidents, or shipwreck. Now he'd knowingly sent his elder son off to battle against an enormously numerically superior foe seven thousand miles away. If all had gone well, the battle Cayleb had been sent to fight was long over, but had his son won, or had he lost? And in either case, had he survived?
