"I'll interrogate Lord Ch'ien. Perhaps he exceeded his instructions."
"Perhaps. But I doubt it."
The King said, "When people mess with me I get mean. Mist, you and your friends are going to be my guests for a while."
The Unborn stirred slightly, bobbing behind Varthlokkur's shoulder. Mist glanced at the thing and grimaced. "For how long? I'm involved in two desperate wars."
"Two?" Lord Hsung asked.
"Eastern Army was beaten. Northern Army may not hold. Lord Ssu-ma has performed brilliantly, but even genius has its limits. The eastern front is about to collapse."
Bragi smiled. "Ask me how much I care. The worse the whipping you take, the lighter the weight on my back."
Varthlokkur made another warning gesture. "Not so belligerent, my friend."
Mist said, "This threat has big dreams, Bragi. It won't be satisfied with us. It hates the world."
"Come on."
"These are armies of the dead. They have no love for the living."
Varthlokkur felt the snakes wakening in his belly, felt the color leave his face. The Unborn stirred, disturbed by his emotion. That damned mess out east... It wouldn't go away. Were the gods themselves determined to drag him in?
"Still irrelevant," Bragi said. "I want to know how to get you to deal straight."
Mist took his hand. "I made some rotten deals to put this over, Bragi. The rottenest was to try trapping you. You refuse to understand what you mean to the Tervola. They want your scalp. Bad. I made it as soft a trap as I could, trusting that you'd have your usual luck. And we all got what we wanted. So let's stay friends."
"Okay. For now."
Varthlokkur smiled again, both at Mist's relief and at this flash of the flexibility of the old Bragi. He sighed, "On your way, Radeachar." And, "Home at last. You realize I haven't seen my daughter since right after she was born?"
"I haven't seen Inger," the King said. "Let's get out of here." But before they departed they reminded their people to keep close watch on Mist and her followers.
"That was close," Mist murmured to Lord Hsung. "Why can't you people be more flexible?"
"We people, Mistress?"
"Tervola. Not one of you learned from the example of O Shing. You forced him to go after Ragnarson because of the defeat at Baxendala. So a lot of great Tervola lost their lives. Whole legions were destroyed. And the balance was not rectified. The ignominy was compounded. And now that same obsession has nearly destroyed me... "
Lord Hsung chuckled. "You forget, I was on the other side."
"You represent the sort of thinking that causes the problem. Don't forget, I've been sitting up in Maisak for three years, watching you. You've been conspiring with both sides in the fighting in Hammad al Nakir. You've been sneaking agents into Kavelin. You've been spreading threats and rumors of war just to keep the King on edge. I don't know how much of that I can tolerate. It could come bad on us like a bad spell."
"In time, you'll tolerate as much as it takes to destroy the man and his cohorts."
"Perhaps." We'll see, she thought. We'll see. "We'd better move out of here while he's in a mood to let us go. Lord Ch'ien! Where is Lord Ch'ien? Isn't he back yet?"
Varthlokkur encountered the King in the halls of Castle Krief. "How's Nepanthe?" Bragi asked.
"Fine. Just fine." For a woman spoiling for a fight all the time. For a woman barely in touch with her own world.
"What about the baby? Decided on a name yet?"
"She's perfect. No, we haven't."
"Something bothering you? You look distracted."
"A lot of things. But mainly Nepanthe."
"Still nagging you about Ethrian, eh?"
"Mostly." The wizard resumed walking, leaving the King wearing a baffled expression.
Yes, Nepanthe was still nagging about Ethrian. And he was having an ever more difficult time not betraying his suspicions about what was happening in the far east. There was going to be a blowup... Hell, Bragi wouldn't tell her. He was a politician. He could subvert his friendship for Nepanthe to his need for the aid only a wizard armed with the Unborn could provide.
Couldn't he?
Mist sighed and dragged herself out of the lethargic half-sleep that held her. Gently, she tugged her arm from beneath Aral, sat up, swung her feet to the floor. Dantice snorted, rolled onto his belly. She looked at him fondly.
It had been pleasant while it lasted. Now it had to end. For real. The moment she returned to Venerable Huang Tain she would come under the closest scrutiny, scrutiny unceasing. It would be a long time before she could do anything without first acquiring the approval of the Council of Tervola.
She had few illusions about how much power she had acquired in the coup. A great deal, to be sure, but nothing like what her father and uncle had commanded in the days of their Dual Principiate. She would rule, but would have to avoid giving offense. She would have to exercise the greatest care, and would be able to eliminate rivals only with the utmost caution. It would be a generation before she consolidated completely.
If she survived the first year. She didn't doubt that there were counterplots afoot already.
What had the empire come to? All this conspiracy, all this grasping after power—there hadn't been any of that in her father's time. He and his brother had ruled for four hundred years and had faced fewer plots than had formed over the two decades since their passing. Was it a sign that the empire was dying? That it was decaying even while it grew?
She left the bed and, without dressing, sat at her writing desk. She wrote a long missive to the King.
She repeated her apologies, telling him he had been a good friend throughput her exile. As a gesture, she was going to leave her children in Kavelin.
She smiled. Crafty witch. Who do you think you're fooling? He knows you. He knows Shinsan. He'll realize they'll be less hostages to fortune if they stay here. He'll know you're trying to shield them from the vicissitudes of Shinsan's politics.
"Aral? Come on. Wake up. It's time."
He sat up, avoided her eye. He had the look of a whipped puppy. He had asked to go with her, and hadn't understood when she explained why he couldn't.
"Up, soldier. Get yourself dressed." She began donning her own clothing. She decided to gather a new wardrobe first thing. She couldn't stroll the places of Venerable Huang Tain clad as Chatelaine of Maisak. Her sojourn in the west, and her having served the western cause during the Great Eastern Wars, would cause her trouble enough. "Here's a letter I want you to take to the King. Okay?"
Aral muttered something she didn't catch. For just a moment she relented. She kissed him. He tried to pull her into the bed. "No. No. Try to understand, dear." She disentangled herself. At the door, she said, "Good-bye, Aral."
It came out sounding more sad than she intended. She wasn't enjoying this parting.
Varthlokkur cradled his daughter with his right forearm. His left hand lay folded between his wife's fingers. He stared out the window at silvery cumulus galleons rushing eastward in ponderous battle array. "Looks like rain tomorrow."
"Something wrong?" Nepanthe asked. "You're pretty remote."
He shifted his attention to the baby's tiny red face. "You thought of a name yet?"
"Yes. I don't know if you'll like it. What about you?"
"No. I've been distracted."
"Distracted? You're always distracted. Lately you've been in another world. What's wrong?"
"Trouble."
"There's always trouble here. Vorgreberg breeds it the way other cities breed cockroaches."
"This is the King's trouble."
"He's always in trouble. How about naming her after your mother?"