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Khamûl fought rage at his daughter’s impertinence in asking him for an explanation of his presence. Her rebelliousness grows the Voice said, and he had to check his own nod of agreement. It was becoming a problem, his ready acknowledgement of the Voice. Its counsel and advice was so consistent a part of his life now that at times he forgot that it was a gift given to him alone by the power of Annatar, and that all others were deaf to it. He frowned darkly upon the women, projecting his displeasure at them both.
The Lady Arshalous was wary of him, he could see, perhaps even fearful. He thought to himself that perhaps it was too late for her to be redeemed; perhaps her corruption had been too far advanced. But the Voice counselled otherwise. There is yet hope for her in your strength, it sang sweetly in his ears. She is swaying in her loyalties, for though she is true she is weak. Do not judge her! She suffers only from the weakness of her female flesh. Pity her instead, and raise her up by the power of your hand.
He did pity her. Of all those whom he had formerly accounted his allies she was the last one who had yet to plot against him – the last one to hold by her oaths. Khamûl looked at his daughter and knew that he had come not a moment too soon. “I have come to speak with the Lady Arshalous upon an important matter,” he said, “but you need not depart, my daughter, for it concerns you closely. I have need of a Queen.” It was a simple statement of fact, and as he said it, he directed his gaze upon Arshalous. “I do not flatter myself that you would wish to see yourself allied to me through any great love or affection, Lady. Nor shall I lie to you and say that such a union will bring you comfort and ease. It is a burden that I am asking you to bear for the good of our people. You have suffered reverses of late, but you are still rich and command many servants. You are respected by many in the City for your patronage of the new temple, and you bring the added benefit of having avoided all intrigues and factions within the nobility. Your very isolation, so long a trial for you, makes you an ideal choice for queen. But above all these concerns, potent as they might be, there is the fact that you are a sensible and intelligent woman whose counsel I would welcome.”
There was a shocked silence as Arshalous looked down, her breath now coming quickly. Gjeelea spoke out, and in her voice was none of her usual cunning and diplomacy. “My King! My mother’s ashes were spread to the winds but six months ago! It is not seemly for you to take a new wife so soon!”
“These are terrible times,” he snapped at his daughter, and as he did so, his eyes seemed to darken and it was as though a vast shadow slid out from him. “I cannot bear the weight of the crown alone, and unaided. My counsellors desert me. My General is mad, or worse. Even my children no longer heed only my voice! I am a king, my daughter, a king. Do you know yet what that means? I do not have the luxury that some do to waste my time in an empty show of courtship and affection so that I might catch the fickle eye of the mob!” He turned from his daughter, as though the very act wiped her from existence, and addressed the Lady Arshalous. “I apologise for my daughter’s outburst, Lady. She is yet young, and though she deems herself wise and capable of rule, she has much to learn of the ways of power.”
He paused for a response, prompting Arshalous to mutter formulaically, “I take no offence, Majesty.”
“Good! It does you credit. I know that ladies in your position do not dream of a proposal such as this. I should be clad in silver and mounted upon a fiery white steed, with a troupe of singers at my back. I should speak to you with honey on my tongue and poetry in my heart – but we both know how empty such foppery would be here. Instead I offer myself to you as I am: a plain man and a powerful king in need of a wife. What say you?”
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