THREE
THE QUEEN IN COUNCIL

Queen Estie of Amika, the Queen-Consort of Belleger, was already late for the King’s council meeting, but she continued studying herself in her glass for a little longer.

She did not much like what she saw.

At fifteen, when she had met her first Bellegerin in King Smegin’s ceremonial hall, she had been a beauty. At twenty-five, nine years after her wedding, and eight after her father had abdicated his throne, making her Queen in Amika, she had been ravishing. But now she was thirty-five. Time and suppressed grief had engraved their fine lines around her eyes. Anger and hard choices had left their marks at the corners of her mouth. The loss of the luxuries she had known as a princess had rubbed a subtle roughening into her skin. And her eyes themselves seemed to have lost their luster. She was a disappointed wife, apparently unloved, certainly childless. In addition, she was the ruler of an endangered realm, vexed in its uneasy alliance with Belleger, uncertain of its future. And she was always afraid.

On some days, her fears seemed so vaporous that they hardly deserved to be named. On others, she knew precisely what she feared, and why. And on others, her only real fear—the only one she cared about—was that she had proven herself unworthy.

She was deliberately late to King Bifalt’s council meeting.

But she had not chosen to delay her arrival out of pique. She had too much pride for that, and the issues were too important. She only faced herself in the glass to pass the time.

She could just as easily have occupied herself by making a mental tally of the austerities imposed on her by her apartments high in one of Belleger’s Fist’s turrets. Until her wedding day, she had been accustomed to sumptuous living in Amika’s Desire. When she was here, she occasionally pined for a few of the indulgences that awaited her in Maloresse.

However, she was not petty enough to complain. After all, King Bifalt’s quarters were no more comfortable than hers. Nothing in the Fist was comfortable. Every scrap of wealth that her husband acquired, he used to relieve the privations of his people; or to feed and house the workmen who labored on his various fortifications, here and on the coast; or to provide for his army. Privately, she admired his lack of interest in fine furniture and pampering. In fact, she had modeled her rule of Amika on his conduct as Belleger’s King—much to the consternation of the few functionaries and fewer courtiers she had retained after her father’s abdication.

And whenever she exceeded her tolerance for discomfort and strict living, she could return to Amika’s Desire. Her husband did not hold her here. Oh, he needed her. She understood what drove him well enough to know that she was needed. But he did not pretend to rule her. And he honored her commitment to Amika. When she absented herself from Belleger, he did not even ask when she might return. Instead, he visited her in Maloresse faithfully, taking his place as the King-Consort of Amika for a few days or a fortnight, until his own responsibilities called him away, or until she expressed a wish to return.

She could not complain about how she was housed and served in Belleger’s Fist without seeming as silly as her sisters.

A casual observer might have thought that she was late to important meetings because she was vain. She wanted to make an entrance when everyone else was already at work so that she could command their attention. No doubt some of King Bifalt’s adherents saw her in that light. But any closer study would have discovered that she was early almost as often as she was late; even very early. At times, she tested the King’s patience. At times, she encouraged him to think that he was testing hers.

In fact, his council meetings were as significant to her as they were to him, whether they were public or private. They dealt with matters she could not ignore. She was the Queen of Amika. She had the needs of her own people to consider; her own fears to take into account; her own heritage to understand. Every issue, every disagreement, every decision had a direct bearing on the eventual survival of both realms. She did not want to miss any council meeting. She found no pleasure in being late.

Nevertheless she was routinely late—or early—in an effort to shore up her battered self-esteem; her sense of her own existence. Like many of her comments and arguments during those meetings, her unpredictable arrivals were an attempt to nudge King Bifalt off balance. He was too rigidly controlled, too patient with her. None of her vagaries—like her unannounced departures for Maloresse, her unexplained returns—unlocked the iron door of his tolerance. He had told her his terms on their wedding night. Now he lived by them. Her complete freedom was the price he exacted from himself for the life he had refused to give her.

Apparently, he did not grasp—or perhaps simply declined to acknowledge—that she also paid a price. He made her feel insubstantial. At times, she doubted her own reality.

Well, freedom had its advantages. Certainly, she appreciated the fact that she could spend as much time as she wished or needed in Amika. And she did him the justice of valuing his willingness to play the role of the dutiful husband on those occasions when she sat her throne in Amika’s Desire. As the years passed, however, she felt less inclined to fill the same role in Belleger’s Fist. Her freedom had disadvantages as well.

One was that she was completely and solely responsible for what she did, or wanted, or feared. If she had a problem—if she felt unhappy and needed comfort—if she did not know how to manage her doubts—she could not turn to her husband. He did not turn to her . In effect, they never spoke to each other unless there were other people present. As a result, being married to him was far lonelier than living alone.

But there was a worse price to be paid for the conditions of their marriage. Before she had been his wife for five years, she knew with absolute assurance that she could have taken half a dozen lovers and flaunted them without ruffling the surface of his self-command. He would not offer her any sign of disapproval, or betray so much as an air of disappointment. And certainly, he would not treat her as she treated him. He did not take lovers. His cold bed was part of what she received in exchange for what he had refused to give.

So of course Queen Estie of Amika had never taken a lover. She did not want one.

She wanted him . She wanted the heat of his gaze, the touch of his battle-cut hands, the hoarse sound of his voice in her ear. She had wanted him, and only him, since the first moments of their wedding.

That truth—or its hopelessness—shamed her. And over the years, it had made her strive to provoke some kind of personal reaction from her husband. She ached for something more ordinary than an argument about policy or a disagreement over the distribution of resources. She teased him, even taunted him; contradicted him in public; tried his patience. She wanted to make him feel something . Anything. If he had rewarded her goading with a flicker of chagrin or irritation, she would have been pleased. If he had slapped her face, she might have called that a victory. It would have confirmed her to herself.

But he did not do those things. And she could not console herself with the protest that she did not deserve to be treated so distantly. With her rational mind, she understood that his rigidity was not directed at her. Its effect on her was an unfortunate consequence of his rigidity in all things, his inflexible resolve to save what he could from a war he had not chosen and did not want. In addition, she believed what he had told her about that war. More than that, she believed in him . It was no wonder that she hungered for him. She was convinced that his restraint—his stern focus on his one true burden, to the exclusion of every distraction—was all that stood between their two realms and destruction. If he failed to be less than who and what he was, the Last Repository’s enemy would treat both Belleger and Amika as fodder, and move on. If she, Estie of Amika, diminished Bifalt of Belleger in any way, her people and his would suffer for it.

So she, too, restrained herself. Her small efforts to vex him encouraged the view that she was petty or vain; but they were all small . She did not permit herself lovers, or tantrums, or deeper forms of betrayal. As much as she could, she defused conspiracies in Amika. Whenever her desire to provoke her husband threatened to exceed the bounds she had set for herself, she retreated to Maloresse and Amika’s Desire, and stayed there until she regained her self-control.

Still she did not understand why he did not want her . Twice he had tried to explain himself, once on their wedding night, once years later, and still she did not understand. She had done what she could to make herself the wife he needed, the partner he needed, the ally he needed. As far as she was concerned, Amika was a friend Belleger could trust. Nevertheless he remained distant. And so her wish to provoke him persisted, and her secret grief; and her face in the glass hinted at the depth of her disappointment.

What was wrong with her? How had she failed to win her wedded husband? What did she lack that he might crave?

Sighing, she turned away. She intended her deliberate provocations to be small. And she did not want to miss anything of substance that might be said in the meeting. This was one of King Bifalt’s public councils: it was open to anyone in the realm who wanted him to judge a grievance. But larger issues would be discussed as well—and discussed as freely as if the meeting were private. The King did not fear disagreements. He was not reluctant to answer criticisms. And he could compromise, despite his unbending manner, when he was presented with solid arguments. More than once, he had sacrificed his own plans and preferences because his Queen-Consort had stood her ground. Her road toward the Last Repository was a good example. Despite his loathing for the library’s Magisters, he had given her as much support as Belleger could afford.

Queen Estie of Amika did not intend to avoid her chance to hear what he heard, and to have her say. Putting on the calm demeanor of a woman who was never late, she left her rooms.

When she walked into the hall where King Bifalt held his public councils, Chancellor Postern of Amika and Land-Captain Erepos of Belleger were arguing. However, their disagreement was a familiar one, and she ignored them for a moment while she surveyed the chamber.

The space was perhaps half the size of the ceremonial hall in Amika’s Desire, and almost entirely unfurnished, apart from the rows of backed benches arranged on the floor four shallow stairs below the dais that held the King’s heavy, uncushioned armchair and her own, the Queen-Consort’s. The benches could have seated at least a hundred people, but on this occasion, she counted no more than thirty. She allowed herself a brief satisfaction when she saw that some of them were Amikan.

None of the lamps were lit. Even this late in the afternoon, the many windows admitted enough daylight. In the streaks of sunbeams, motes of dust danced like snow-flurries. The King did not waste the efforts of the keep’s servants on sweeping the hall.

King Bifalt was in his place, listening to the Chancellor and the Land-Captain with apparent attention—and gripping the arms of his chair like a man who wished that both functionaries would drop dead. As soon as he saw Queen Estie enter, he rose from his seat and bowed. Without asking the Chancellor and the Land-Captain to pause, he said as he always did, “My lady Queen, you are very welcome. Thank you for coming.” Then he came closer to hand her into her chair.

She replied with her customary curtsy. Ignoring his depleted tone, she said, “Thank you , my lord King. I am intimately interested in these discussions, as you know.”

His frown had nothing to do with her. “The subject is an old one.”

Because he was frowning, she smiled. “So I surmise, my lord.”

Too late for courtesy, Chancellor Postern and Land-Captain Erepos noticed her presence. Abruptly, both men fell silent.

Still smiling, Queen Estie let her husband settle her in her chair. While he reseated himself, she continued to scan the people in the hall.

As usual, there were a few guards standing against the walls. As usual, they had nothing to do. Looking for the individuals she wanted to see, she noticed a Bellegerin merchant grinning with evident satisfaction. And a few rows from him, an Amikan trader sat slumped in dejection. Clearly, King Bifalt had already judged their grievance. In contrast, an Amikan housewife on one of the last benches nodded to herself happily while a Bellegerin tinker nearby chewed his beard in frustration.

Whatever King Bifalt’s emotions might be, Queen Estie could trust her husband to dispense his judgment with an even hand.

Continuing her search, she was surprised to find both of King Bifalt’s brothers present. No doubt, Jaspid, the older, was here because he was General Klamath’s second-in-command, the First Captain, and the General had not yet returned from his search for veterans willing to rejoin the army. Jaspid sat with a soldier’s carriage, a soldier’s high head and jutting chin—and a soldier’s profound boredom. Estie knew him well enough to know that he would not have spent a moment in this hall if his King had ever given him permission to abandon his duties. Jaspid did not want command. He was a gifted fighter, and he yearned to prove himself on his own terms. Preferably against overwhelming odds.

Characteristically, Lome, the youngest of King Abbator’s sons, stayed as far away from his martial brother as he could. A smaller man, in finer clothes that were less well kempt, he sprawled on his bench like a sot who had already made a good start on a day of heavy drinking. His presence at this—or any—council baffled the Queen-Consort. He had refused any role in Belleger’s affairs. Apparently, he preferred ale and wine to any useful task. Estie considered him the Disappointed Son, too young to have any hope of gaining the throne, too inept to compete with his older brother. Over the years, she had spent time comfortably with Jaspid often, on a few occasions at length. She had no patience for Lome.

Unfortunately, the two people she most hoped to see were absent: Magister Facile, the Last Repository’s representative to King Bifalt’s court; and Elgart, who appeared to have no function in Belleger’s life, and yet had contrived to make himself a treasure-house of secrets, some of which he shared. Queen Estie had expected to find both of them here. Elgart seldom skipped a council meeting; Magister Facile, never.

Oh, well. She would have to look for them later. The sorceress came closer than anyone else to being Estie’s confidant. She seemed to understand the Queen-Consort’s dilemmas. And Elgart might be able to answer a question or two that had been nagging at the Queen recently.

Land-Captain Erepos had already resumed his argument. In council, he was a bitter badger of a man. In private, he was pleasant company: warm and genial, almost self-effacing. Estie missed his elderly predecessor, but she liked Erepos well enough. To King Bifalt, he was saying, “I have said it before, Majesty. I will say it again. That road is an extravagance. No doubt, it will prove its value, given time. But we do not have time. The coastal fortifications must take precedence. The necessity of that work is absolute.”

Now that his Queen was present, the Chancellor addressed himself to her. “The same tired argument, Majesty,” he sighed without quite looking at her. He was a tall man with a straggle of white hair, a full grey beard, and a furtive glance: an air of misdirection which he had learned during his years serving Estie’s father. “The Land-Captain wants more men. Belleger’s King wants more men. Levies for the army I try to understand. But fortifying the coast? It is an impossible task. Worse, it is wasteful. Everyone knows that the sea is of no use to Belleger. It will be equally useless to invading ships—if we are compelled to assume that such ships will ever come. We have already given too many men and years to a foolish task.”

“It is not foolish,” snapped Erepos. “Your ignorance of Belleger betrays you, Chancellor. There is only one bay that does not confront the sheer walls of the Realm’s Edge in the south, or the high cliffs that form the Line’s Cut in the north. It lies due west of the Open Hand. And in that one place, the cliffs subside. They are like staged battlements. It is as if nature intended them to hold cannon. We have already carved a road down to the edge of the sea. Now we make fortified positions to catch encroaching ships with our fire. If you doubt my word, ask Commander Forguile. He commands there, with Captain Flisk of Belleger. Ask him if he needs more men.

“Those ships will come, Chancellor. King Bifalt has told us. If we are not ready for them, they will have their way with us.”

In response, Chancellor Postern made a show of sighing. “Do you hear him, Majesty?” he asked his Queen. “It is always the same. More men for a misguided task.” Lowering his voice in the hope—or the pretense—that only Estie could hear him, he added, “King Bifalt has been to the Last Repository. I do not know what he heard there, but it frightened him. Belleger has a frightened King, and his decisions are made in fear. He—”

Queen Estie held up her hand. “You will stop there, Chancellor. You have said too much already.” She had never liked the man; but recently she had begun to doubt him. “When I was sold to Belleger to be King Bifalt’s wife, the price was agreed.” She had the satisfaction of seeing the muscles around her husband’s eyes tighten slightly at the implied insult: the suggestion that he considered her nothing more than an item of barter. But he betrayed no other reaction. “He abides by it. I abide by it. We are allies. If a war is coming, we must prepare for it together.”

Chancellor Postern tried again. “But, Majesty—”

“No,” she said sternly. “Do not obscure your disagreement with the Land-Captain. The subject is men, not the use to which they are put. That use is not yours to determine. My lord King and I have agreed on it. The matter is closed.

“What is your objection to supplying the Land-Captain with more men?”

While the Chancellor almost looked at her, his mouth unbecomingly ajar, King Bifalt cleared his throat. “Chancellor Postern says, my lady, that Amika has no more men. They are all at work on your road.”

Land-Captain Erepos nodded. Then, bowing to no one in particular, he went to the nearest bench and seated himself. Clearly, he was content to let his King and Queen-Consort make his arguments for him.

Estie did not doubt that her husband quoted the Chancellor accurately. But she had returned from Maloresse at the end of summer. She knew that Postern’s statement was false.

Of course, he knew that she knew. He was not fool enough to imagine that she kept her eyes shut when she visited her home. He had been trying to mislead Land-Captain Erepos and King Bifalt. She intended to discover how far he would go, and why.

“What, all ?” she asked the Chancellor, smiling brightly. “Are you quite sure? I can hardly credit what I hear.”

“Majesty.” Chancellor Postern did not let himself move a muscle. He made a vague study of her right ear. Sunlight from the nearest window outlined him with a penumbra of drifting dust. It gave him an innocent look. “Not all , naturally. But all that can be spared. Your honor guard is much reduced. There are scarcely enough men now to defend Maloresse. And—”

“From what ?” demanded Jaspid loudly. He was paying more attention than Estie had realized.

“From unrest, Majesty,” answered Postern uneasily. “From unruly Bellegerin traders. From hostile Amikan merchants.” Then he added, “And your father requires his retinue. Surely, King Smegin deserves a measure of protection in his declining years?”

Requires? mused Queen Estie. Protection? The Chancellor was trying to pacify her; but he did not have that effect. Instead, her doubts began to take shape.

“Protection!” snorted General Klamath’s second-in-command. “I will ask again. From what ?”

Still smiling, Estie urged, “Answer the First Captain, Chancellor.”

Postern appeared to flinch. But he did not falter. Without a quaver, he replied, “From the Nuuri, Majesty.”

“The Nuuri ?” exclaimed Jaspid.

Before he could go on, King Bifalt silenced him with a short gesture.

The Nuuri, indeed? thought Estie. Interesting. Now she was actively suspicious. Everyone knew that the Nuuri were fierce fighters; but they were not warlike. They had no interest in the affairs of Amika and Belleger. They only fought to defend their lands from intrusion.

But she did not challenge Chancellor Postern directly. She could sense his discomfort. She meant to undermine him further.

With no hint of ire in her tone, she changed her ground.

“I understand, Chancellor. Now tell me. What progress is being made on my road? How does the work progress?”

He shifted his gaze to her left ear. The tension in his shoulders betrayed an increasing unease. “Well enough, Majesty.” He made a visible effort to sound confident; to tell her what she wanted to hear. “You will not be displeased.”

Sweet as honey, Estie asked, “And this is done without calling on my honor guard? Without the aid of my father’s retinue?”

Postern was taken by surprise. He was not accustomed to being questioned like this; and he made the mistake of letting his irritation show. “We have our slaves, Majesty.”

Abruptly, peril filled the air. The audience was slow to react. Prince Jaspid and the Land-Captain were not. They sprang to their feet. “Majesty!” began Erepos. “We did not condone—!”

But King Bifalt dominated the hall. “Slaves?” He did not shout, but his voice was hot with fury. Before the onlookers had time to understand his demand or grasp what was happening, he was on his feet, moving like a thunderhead toward the Chancellor. “Do you mean Bellegerin slaves?”

At once, Estie leapt from her chair. In that instant, nothing mattered to her except her husband. With three quick steps, she managed to put herself in front of him.

“My lord,” she whispered urgently, “think a moment. You know me better than that. If your people have been made slaves, Amikan heads will pay for it.”

His rage was fixed on Postern. Black murder filled his eyes. He raised one hand to thrust the Queen-Consort out of his way.

But then he caught himself. His gaze shifted to her. Slowly, he seemed to remember who she was.

“I do,” he rasped. “Know you better.” Slowly, the darkness in his eyes faded. The hard lines of his face relaxed. “He is your Chancellor. Deal with him.”

Turning abruptly, he went back to his chair and sat down.

Queen Estie took a deep breath. Without looking at Postern, she asked softly, dangerously, “Chancellor?”

“A mistake of the tongue, Majesty,” he replied quickly. He knew his danger. He was Amikan: he must have believed that King Bifalt would kill him. “I meant to say laborers . They are not slaves. We do not enslave our allies. They are slaves only to the extent that we do not allow them to leave.” As if he were scoring a point, he explained, “We lose too many men to desertion. Most are Bellegerin.”

There she had him. She could get the truth from him now, while he was afraid of her husband. She nodded to King Bifalt, then went to the edge of the dais and down the first step so that Chancellor Postern could at least try to look at her straight.

Giving him no chance to prepare himself, she changed her ground again.

“What threat do the Nuuri pose to my father?”

Floundering, he focused on her mouth as if her words were as deadly as King Bifalt’s hands. “Who knows, Majesty? They are strangers. Primitive.” Then he seemed to tighten his grip on himself. “But they are massing along the border. You know your father’s retreat, Majesty. They can reach it in two days.”

Smiling like a woman who wanted blood, Queen Estie released the jaws of her trap. “How do you know this, Chancellor? How often do you communicate with my father?”

His reaction betrayed him. The blood left his face. His head jerked as if she had slapped him. “Majesty!” he protested. “I do not! How can you think—?”

“No!” Estie’s voice cut like a whip. King Smegin had taught her how to be savage when she needed to be. “I will not have it, Postern! I may call it treason . I have my own sources. Their reports are sure. I will know a lie when you speak it.

“How often do you communicate with my father ?”

In fact, she had received no reports. But Elgart had hinted at secret messengers. She had been increasingly troubled by Chancellor Postern’s efforts to obstruct King Bifalt’s preparations. She knew how many armed soldiers remained in the vicinity of Maloresse. She could guess at the size of King Smegin’s retinue. And she knew her father.

Almost stammering, the Chancellor admitted, “Every fortnight.” He stared at Estie’s mouth as if it horrified him. “Once or twice.” Desperately, he tried to assure her of his loyalty. To fend off her next question. “He supports your road, Majesty. He wants it completed for you. He is proud of what you do. Only the Last Repository can help us.”

But she was Queen Estie now, not a mere princess who could be flattered into compliance. And she was married to King Bifalt of Belleger: she knew the stakes. She did not relent.

Postern was her Chancellor, but until now she had not realized that he still served Amika’s former monarch.

“I am familiar with my father’s pride, Chancellor. I know its worth. He keeps it for himself.

“ How does he support my road?”

The man continued to hold himself still—and yet he looked like he was tottering. “He supplies laborers.”

If Estie could have made her voice raise welts, she would have done it. “Laborers?”

“Workers,” croaked the Chancellor. Then something in him seemed to collapse. “He supplies slaves.” As if he wanted to condone his own actions, or King Smegin’s—as if they could be condoned—he added, “They work well enough under the whip.”

For a moment, the Queen simply stared at him. She let the shock of his revelation pass through her; pass through the hall. She did not need to ask who the slaves were, or where her father had acquired them. Why else were the Nuuri massing on the border? Nor did she waste time on how he had captured any of them. King Smegin was a Magister.

Then the urgency of the situation came over her. She could deal with Postern later. He had already disgraced himself enough. He was harmless now. King Bifalt would not let him leave. Turning her back, she returned to the dais; walked straight to her husband sitting rigid in his chair.

The deep smolder of his gaze made her feel weak with shame. Facing him, she wanted to drop to her knees. A terrible crime—a dangerous crime—was being committed, and the fault was hers. When her father had abdicated his throne, she had allowed Postern to remain as her Chancellor. At the time, she had believed rightly enough that he knew more about the practical business of managing Amika than she did. And she had believed that she knew how to manage him . She had accepted him without examining his loyalties. Now she felt that she had spent too much time obsessed with her own circumstances, her own emotions. She had paid too little attention to the underlying conflicts and motives of her people.

And while her back was turned, King Smegin had contrived to enslave some of the Nuuri.

His actions must be comparatively recent. Otherwise she would have heard about them from someone she could trust.

Still the fault was hers.

But she had no time to castigate herself. Her father had to be stopped before the Nuuri crossed the border in force. Before they started a war that neither Amika nor Belleger could afford.

In that instant, she ceased to be a woman who wasted herself on trivial provocations. Trembling, she said, “Forgive me, my lord King. I must go to Amika. Lives have been taken. There are more at risk. I will depart as swiftly as I can.

“Imprison Postern. Do what you wish with him. He is no longer my chancellor.”

As she spoke, King Bifalt surged to his feet, caught her by the elbows as if he feared that she might be in danger of falling. “My lady—”

She shook her head fiercely. “I know your questions, my lord. When I return, I will answer them.”

Nodding, the Land-Captain sat down. He seemed relieved.

At the same time, Jaspid strode forward. Before Postern could move, the First Captain reached him. Gripping the appalled Amikan by one arm, Jaspid gestured for guards.

King Bifalt studied Estie for a moment that felt long to her. His gaze seemed to lay her bare. Then he released her.

“I have no doubt,” he said drily. “You will track this crime to its cause. But perhaps you do not know all of my questions. There is another matter to be discussed here. You will wish to hear it.”

“Majesty!” Postern tried to protest; but the rough hands of the guards silenced him as they dragged him away.

Queen Estie did not glance at him. She wanted to go. Oh, she wanted to go , before the atrocity of Nuuri slaves ignited an explosion. But her husband’s eyes held her. His tone reached deep into her. It forced her to think —

Abruptly, she realized that she needed to talk to Elgart before she left. And to Magister Facile. Earlier, she had wanted advice. Now she wanted more.

Feigning steadiness, the Queen-Consort dropped a small curtsy. “As you suggest, my lord.”

Without waiting for his reaction, she returned to her chair and sat down. In an effort to reclaim some portion of her image of herself, she added, “When you are ready, my lord King.”

Belleger’s King did not waste her time. Looking out over the hall, he said in a voice like dry cornstalks rustling against each other, “Forget King Smegin’s lackey. He will answer for what he has done. Slavery is a great evil. The Queen-Consort will deal with it. We have another question to consider.

“Prince Lome, you wish to speak. I mean no disrespect when I ask you to be brief. My lady Queen has urgent tasks elsewhere.”

“Lome?” Prince Jaspid paused on his way back to his seat. “ Lome wishes to speak?” Across the benches, he asked, “What ails you, Brother? Have wine and ale eaten your mind? Are you too drunk to understand Postern’s confession?”

Other people shared Jaspid’s surprise. Murmurs ran like a breeze from place to place. Even the few Amikans knew Lome’s reputation.

King Bifalt cut through the ripple of voices. “First Captain.” His tone was mild, but it did not soften his reprimand. “Lome is a Prince of Belleger. He is my brother as much as yours. And he is familiar with regions of the Open Hand you seldom visit. He does not need to swing a sword to offer his service. We will hear him.”

Away from the training-field and trials at arms, Jaspid was impulsive; but he was not slow-witted. He accepted his King’s reproach. As mild as his brother, he replied, “As you say, Majesty.”

Before he took his seat, he bowed an apology to Queen Estie.

While she smiled for the First Captain, and for her husband’s defense of his second brother, Prince Lome lurched upright. “I have a request,” he said too loudly. “Majesty. You have heard it before. You must reconsider.” Drink or his uncharacteristic temerity made him sound belligerent. “It concerns the Church of the Great God Rile.”

Blocked by turrets and ramparts outside the windows, the sunlight was fading. Prince Lome was an indistinct figure, slurred by shadows and gloom.

“Will you be more specific, Brother?” If King Bifalt felt any displeasure, he kept it to himself. “You know my position. I have allowed the building of churches because my lady Queen sees no harm in them. I have not resisted the worship of this ‘great god,’ whatever he may be. But I do not trust these strangers. Their purposes are unclear to me.

“What must I reconsider?”

“A place on your council.” Prince Lome’s effort to speak assertively scattered saliva. “Your private council. Where Belleger’s future is decided. A place for Archpriest Makh, who leads the Church of the Great God.

“You have rejected any priest.” The Prince spoke strongly, yet he did not sound strong. He sounded frightened. “You are wrong. The Archpriest is more than his disciples. He is wiser . And he preaches peace. We do not have it now. We are allied with Amika, but you cannot pretend we are at peace . Even you , Brother. You cannot pretend we have peace.

“Only hear him once . Only let him speak in your council once . Then his purposes will be clear.” To keep his balance, Lome braced his arms on the back of the bench in front of him. “You will know how wrong you are.”

There was silence in the hall until Land-Captain Erepos suggested to Lome laconically, “Majesty.”

At once, Prince Lome’s confidence seemed to abandon him. “Majesty,” he echoed in a smaller voice.

With what Queen Estie considered admirable restraint, King Bifalt repeated, “You know my position, Brother. I will not restate it.” Then he turned to her. “But if my Queen-Consort has any new thoughts? We have spoken of this before. What do you say to Prince Lome’s request now?”

Estie had forgotten her impulse to provoke her husband. This was not an occasion for an unloved wife’s frustration. It was a time for the Queen of Amika.

In her most soothing tone, she asked Lome, “Will you answer one question, Highness? What do you say to one of the Nuuri on the King’s private council? Will you hear him?”

Vague in the dimness, Prince Lome gaped at her, but no words came.

She gave him a moment to gather himself. When he did not respond, she said, “Then I will tell you how I view your request.

“I see no threat in the priests, or in strangers. The world holds many people, and they each have their own wisdom. We can learn much from strangers.

“But I place great value on privacy. King Bifalt’s private councils are private, as mine are, because they consider private matters, matters that do not concern strangers. In those meetings, every voice and opinion can be heard and answered without fear. Beliefs and desires can be debated there, thoughts that cannot be addressed publicly because they might give rise to rumors and confusion.

“In private, any stranger can only be a distraction. I do not call it wise to admit any priest, even the Archpriest, to the King’s private council. I would not admit him to mine.”

For the briefest of moments, King Bifalt’s severity eased. Then he stood. Crisply now, he told Prince Lome, “You are answered, Brother. And my Queen-Consort’s need to depart is grave. If you remain dissatisfied, speak to me alone. This council is ended.”

To his wife, he gave a formal bow; but he did not look into her eyes. As soon as she replied with a curtsy, he turned away and left the dais, heading toward the passages that led to his personal rooms in Belleger’s Fist.

Doing her best to emulate her husband’s manner, Queen Estie also turned away. But before she departed, she could not resist one more look around the hall.

Prince Lome had collapsed into his seat. Almost immediately, however, he lurched to his feet and rushed toward the public exit. His brother Jaspid stood back, letting other people pass around him; watching Lome with a smile that might have been sardonic or rueful. Grinning, Land-Captain Erepos bowed elaborately to the Queen-Consort before making his own departure.

But Elgart and Magister Facile were still absent.

Queen Estie of Amika needed them. FqMBnPjDkh1I4/0huiQU1Aq8twUqgFKG4kClxH8a9rswoKTbToiEiD1Xvysxnsah