Hammer Of God by Karen Miller

“Welcome back to Kingseat. Not so long since we saw you last, at the coronation, and still it feels an age. Your journey was uneventful?”
    He bowed, and kissed her hand. “Tolerably so, Majesty. Travel on water refuses to agree with my vitals. And…there were some dark looks from the riverbanks as the barge passed between Hartshorn and Meercheq.”
    “It's to be expected,” she said quietly, with a glance at Alasdair. “Some foolish people model themselves on their disobedient dukes. How is Henrik?”
    Ludo, so handsome and stylish and vibrant with life, wilted a little. “Father minds the duchy for me, Majesty. He is well enough, all in all. The tonics your physick Ursa sends help him a great deal, but…”
    But Marlan had broken him, and he'd never fully mend.
    She squeezed his arm. “He's ever in our thoughts, Ludo. Whatever the crown can do, you've only to ask.”
    “I know,” he said, his voice hoarse. “And he sends you his dearest regards.” He turned. “And you, Alasdair. Your Majesty.”
    She indicated the table. “Sit. Speak for duchy Linfoi as we discuss matters of state. Since you're yet to nominate a voice for this council…”
    “I am thinking on it,” he said, taking the only spare seat, beside Ven'Cedwin. “It's not a decision I'd choose to rush, Your Majesty.”
    She nodded. “You and Alasdair can discuss it over dinner. For now let us consider the wider needs of Ethrea.”
    When the council meeting ended, she left Alasdair and Ludo to their reunion and returned to the tiltyard with Zandakar for more training. She was definitely getting stronger, faster, more skilled with the shortsword, but she couldn't escape the unpalatable truth. Time was running out. Tassifer's Feast drew closer, and with it the most fateful meeting of her life.
    The next day, over Alasdair's objections, she abandoned leadership of the council to him entirely. Until the day of the judicial combat she would do nothing but train with Zandakar, sunup to sundown.
    “You'll work yourself to skin and bone!” Alasdair protested that night. “You'll be so exhausted he'll kill you by mistake!”
    Thrumming with pain, so weary she could weep, she lowered herself into the oak tub of water prepared for her. “No, he won't,” she said, wincing. “He's going to keep me alive.” And when Alasdair tried to argue further, added, “Please. No more. I have to do this, and you know it. Keep Ludo company. I must be a poor host.”
    Helfred returned to Kingseat with the Court Ecclesiastica the following morning. She spared him a scant half hour from her training so he could tell her of the changes he'd wrought in the venerable houses of Meercheq and Hartshorn, and to repeat his assertions that the dukes would come to fight. She thanked him for his services, bade him to rest, then afterwards talk with Alasdair of other arrangements for the combat. He agreed without demur. On her sinewy, warlike appearance he passed no word of comment. Which was wise of him, for she surely would've said something rash.
    With Helfred settled, she returned to her hotas.
    Under the privy council's guidance, and with the efforts of so many clerks and privy secretaries, the kingdom continued to prosper. No whispers of Mijak had been heard yet around the harbour or in the taverns of Kingseat, a good thing for which she was most grateful. Save for the mutterings in Hartshorn and Meercheq, and reports from their ducal households of frantic sword practice and declarations of defiance, no disturbances were reported in the kingdom. With Helfred's venerables and chaplains preaching peace and the wisdom of obedience, the upheaval caused by Marlan seemed mostly subsided.
    Alasdair and Helfred crafted the invitations to the ambassadors and Emperor Han. Rhian signed them, and sealed them, and returned to her hotas. Edward and Rudi drew up plans for the creation of the judicial combat arena. Rhian approved them, and returned to her hotas.
    Sunrise by sunrise,