I started to say something more, but Devera climbed down from her lap, came up to me, took my hand
squeezed. "Don't be mad, Uncle Vlad, she meant well."
"I—" I stopped and looked down at her. I shook my head.
"Come," said Verra, "they await you at the Imperial Palace."
"For what?"
"You'll see. And I think we'll meet again, Vlad Taltos, however you feel about it at the moment." The room swirled and went away before I could speak again.
Life, thy name is irony, or something like that.
"And by his own actions, at risk of his life . . ."The voice of the seneschal rolled like thunder through the court. My eyes were down, and my thoughts were filled with two conflicting desires: First, I wanted to turn around and see how Count Soffta was taking the whole thing. Second, I very badly wanted to throw my head back and laugh aloud.
"... which would certainly have cost the lives of thousands of Imperial citizens ..."
Loiosh, of course, wasn't helping any. He sat on my shoulder, looking around, nuzzling Rocza, and generally carrying on as if he were personally being honored, and saying things like, "Do they really take this stuff seriously, boss?"
"... all the lands around Lake Szurke, within the Duchy of Eastmans watch, for a distance ..."
They had even given me a pillow for my knee; a pillow with a stylized Jhereg in grey against a black background. In keeping my eyes to the ground I kept seeing pieces of embroidered wing and head, and this made it harder than ever to keep a straight face.
". . . all rights and privileges pertaining to this rank, to be granted to all descendants and heirs of his body, for as long as the Empire ..."
I wondered how Cawti would react, were she here. Probably not very well, knowing how she felt about the Empire. Perhaps what I missed most about the new Cawti was that she seemed to have lost her sense of humor. And for what? The words of the Demon Goddess came back to me, and for a moment, bitterness overwhelmed irony.
"... crest with the Imperial Phoenix above of the symbol of House Jhereg ..."
His voice almost faltered there, but didn't. Had an Imperial title ever before been granted a Jhereg? Certainly, none had ever been granted an Easterner. My sense of humor returned.
"... crest shall be entered into the Imperial Registry for all time, and may not be removed save by unanimous vote of the Council of Heirs and the Emperor ..."
Just what I needed. I bit my lip. I was becoming anxious for this to end, because when it was over, I'd meet my wife once more. Would I have to say something at the end of the ceremony? No, a deep bow would do.
"... shall be known as Count Szurke, and shall have the right of high and low justice upon his lands, and bear responsibility for ..."
I wondered if this would make the Jhereg any slower to go after my head. Considering that I just implicated a Council member before the Empire, and then played a part in his murder, it wasn't very likely. How soon would they move? Soon. Very soon. If I was going to save my life, which I really should do after all the work Aliera and others had gone through to preserve it, I couldn't waste any time.
"... stand now, before the Empress and the Heirs of the court, and receive ..."
I had that rarest of positions, an Imperial title, which was worth exactly nothing. I wondered if the Empress saw the humor in it. The ceremony came to an end at last. As soon as was decent, I got out of there, intending to head back to the Iorich Wing. But as I was leaving the Imperial Wing, I found Aibynn, his drum at his feet, watching passersby and tapping out rhythms with coins on the marble railing against the wide stairway that led down into the antechamber.
"Here in the Empire," I said, "we call that a banister."
"Where are you going?" he said.
"Now? To meet my wife. After that, well, I'd like a favor from you."
"What's that?"
"The Phoenix Stone you carry; I want it."
He frowned, then said, "All right. It's still at that castle. You can just take it."
"Are you sure you won't need it?"
He shrugged.
"Your mind is made up, isn't it, boss?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks, Aibynn."
"You're welcome. What's that you're wearing?"
"This? I wear it so I don't get sick when—"
"No, that."
"Oh. It represents an Imperial title. It doesn't really mean anything. Want it? In exchange for the one you're giving me?"
"No, thanks. Where are you going?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. What about you? You can't go back home."
"Not now, anyway. That's all right. I like it here. The drumming is much more primitive."
Primitive? I chuckled, thinking of some musicians I'd met who'd have hated to be told that. "Whatever," I said. "Maybe I'll run into you again."
"Yes."
"And Aibynn ..."
"Yes?"
"I think you were wrong about the gods."
"Oh?"
"I think when a god does something reprehensible, it's still reprehensible."
"Then what is a god?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe you can find out."
"Yes." I said. "Maybe I can. Maybe I will. Thanks."
He nodded an acknowledgment and went back to playing the banister. I walked around to the lorich Wing, and found that I'd have to wait an hour or so while they finished the paperwork involved in releasing Cawti. That was all right; I had things to do. I walked away from the Palace, and, still taking delight in the lack of nausea, I teleported.
"You can't do this to me," said Kragar.
"I just did," I told him.
"I won't last five minutes."
"You've already lasted longer than that, and this isn't the first time."
"That was temporary. Vlad, I became a Jhereg because I couldn't be a Dragon. I was born a Dragon, you know that. And I'd try to give an order in battle, and no one would notice. I can't—"
"People change, Kragar. You've already changed."
"But-"
"Think of the money."
He stopped. "A point," he admitted.
"You also have the loyalty of everyone who works here. They know you and they trust you. Besides, what choice do I have? How much is the Organization offering for my head right now?"
He told me, and I was impressed in spite of myself. "The rumor is," he added, "that they want it Morganti."
"That would make sense," I said evenly, though I shuddered as I spoke. I looked around the office. It was still filled with all of my things—target on the wall, coat-rack where Loiosh and Rocza were perched, dark rings on the desk from where I habitually put my klava cup, the wheeled swivel chair I'd had specially designed, and more. It was more like home than home was.
"Will it ever be possible for you to come back?"
"Maybe. But even if it is, I'm not certain I'm ever going to want to. And what if I do? We can work something out, or I can start over somewhere else."
He sighed. "It's going to be hard to work around here without Melestav."
"Yeah. And Sticks."
We were silent for a few moments, out of respect for the dead. I still couldn't hate Melestav, and Sticks had meant a lot to me. I hate it when friends die.
Kragar said, "Will I be able to reach you?"
"No."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know. I've been east, the sea is south. That leaves north and west. Probably one of those directions."
He considered carefully. Then he said, "What are you going to do about South Adrilankha?"
"You don't have to worry about it," I said. "I'm making other arrangements for that territory."
"Well, that's something, anyway."
I took another look around the office. So much of my life had filled that room. Loiosh flew over to Kragar, nuzzled his ear for a moment, and landed on my right shoulder. Rocza landed on my left. I stood up. "Oh, and
Kragar, say good-bye to Kiera the Thief for me. Tell her I still owe her. On the other hand, I expect she can find me when she wants to."