“It’s all right.” Grus shrugged again. “I can’t say you didn’t have your reasons. I can’t say I didn’t give them to you, either.”
“You could have just let… whatever was going to happen there, happen.” Estrilda took a long pull at the wine. “Then you wouldn’t have had to worry about this mess anymore.”
“You said that earlier,” Grus said. Estrilda nodded. He went on, “I don’t think you’ve ever said anything that made me angrier. It’s a sorry business when I have to kill somebody to show you I love you, that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Yes.” His wife nodded. “It is a sorry business, isn’t it?”
Grus started to answer that, then suddenly realized odds were he’d be better off keeping his mouth shut. Since it was already open, he couldn’t very well do that. He could pour more wine down his throat—he could, and he did. His cheeks and ears started feeling numb. He wondered just how much wine he’d drunk. Enough, evidently.
Estrilda reached for her goblet, missed, laughed much too loud, and at last succeeded in capturing it. “I’m going to wish I was dead tomorrow morning,” she said, “but I don’t care right now. I’m going to keep on drinking, because I’m not dead.”
“No, and I’m glad you’re not,” Grus said.
“So am I.” She yawned. “I may not be dead, but I am sleepy.” None too steadily, she got to her feet. “I’m going to bed.”
“Wait. I’ll come with you.” The room spun a little as Grus got up. He thought his walk back to the royal bedchamber was fine, if a little slow. By the way she giggled, Estrilda didn’t. Grus thought her swaying strides pretty funny, too, but he didn’t giggle. He felt proud of his own restraint.
“Do you need anything, Your Majesties?” a servant asked. Grus shook his head, which made the room spin more. The servant left, closing the door behind him. Grus undressed and got under the covers; even inside the palace, the night was cold. Estrilda got into bed with him. They’d been sleeping in the same bed all along. Usually, since finding out about Alca, she’d built a barricade of pillows to make sure sleeping was the only thing they did together.
Tonight, she didn’t. Grus noticed that, but he just lay there, waiting to see what she would do or say. Pushing too hard too soon could only be a mistake. “Good night,” he said, and blew out the lamp.
“Good night,” Estrilda answered as night swallowed the room. Grus shifted a little. He felt Estrilda shifting, too.
Their knees bumped. It was the first time they’d touched in bed since she found out. Grus said, “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” His wife shook her head, making the mattress sway a little on the leather lashings that supported it. “No. It’s not all right. But I thought it was the end of the world, and it’s not that, either. There are pieces left. Maybe we can put some of them back together again.”
“I hope so,” Grus said. “I—” The words wouldn’t come. He reached for her instead, there in the darkness. If she pushed him away… If she did, she did, that was all.
She didn’t. She reached for him, too. “I’m not going to tell you no tonight,” she said, “not after…” She checked herself. “I’m not going to tell you no.”
He caressed her. He knew what pleased her. He’d had years and years to find out. It wasn’t the way it had been with Alca, where he’d learned something new every time. Now he shook his head. If she’d try not to be angry tonight, he’d try not to think of Alca. That seemed only fair.
Then, a little later, he wondered if he could do what he wanted to do. He wished he hadn’t had so much wine. But he managed. By the way Estrilda quivered beneath him, he managed more than well enough. He gave her a kiss as he slid from on her to beside her. “Good night,” he muttered, spent.
“Good night,” she answered. He wasn’t sure he even heard her. Already he slid into sleep as deep and dark as the blackness filling the bedroom.
Lanius needed a way to get Grus’ attention. He didn’t like the one he found, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. With a resigned mental sigh, he said, “Your Majesty?”
Grus always noticed when Lanius admitted he too was King of Avornis, not least because Lanius did it so seldom. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“We need to talk for a few minutes,” Lanius said. “It’s important. Seeing what happened yesterday, I think it’s very important.”
That got through. Grus nodded. “Say what you have to say. I promise I’ll listen.”
“Let’s go someplace quiet, where we can talk by ourselves.” Lanius’ gaze flicked toward the servants bustling along the corridor.
“Whatever this is, you’re serious about it,” Grus remarked. Now Lanius nodded. Grus asked, “Is this—whatever it is—is it what you’ve already started to tell me a couple of times?”
“Yes,” Lanius said. “I had to put it off then. After yesterday, I can’t put it off anymore.”
“All right, Your Majesty.” Grus did do him the courtesy of taking him seriously. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
A couple of maidservants were gossiping in the first room whose door the kings opened. The women stared in astonishment. Now they would have something new to gossip about. The next room the kings tried had shelves piled high with bed linen, and only a little space in which to stand while putting things on those shelves or taking them down.
“Will this do?” Lanius asked doubtfully.
“Nobody will bother us in here, that’s for sure,” his father-in-law answered. “Go on, shut the door.” After Lanius had, Grus asked, “Well, what’s on your mind?”
“Have you ever heard the name… Milvago?” Lanius asked. He’d never said the name aloud before, and looked around nervously as he did. Someone— something—might be listening.
To Grus, it was only a name, and an unfamiliar one. “Can’t say I have,” he replied, indifferent. “Sounds like it ought to be Avornan, but I wouldn’t want to guess past that. You’re the one who’s talking, so tell me about this Milvago.”
“I can’t tell you much,” Lanius said. “I don’t know much. Most of what was written has been dust and ashes for hundreds of years, and the priests have made sure all the ceremonies are different nowadays. They tried to get rid of all the records, too, but they couldn’t quite manage it. They’re only human, after all. Even the peasants have forgotten him, and peasants can have longer memories than anybody.”
“Who is he? Or should I say, who was he?” Grus asked.
“You’re the one who knows history, so I expect you can tell me. Some long-ago heretic? Sounds like it, by the way you talk.”
“You might say so.” Lanius knew his voice sounded strange. “Yes, you just might say so.”
“All right. Fair enough,” Grus said. “But please don’t get angry at me, Your Majesty, when I ask you why I need to know any of this.”
“I won’t get angry,” Lanius said. “It’s a reasonable question. And the answer is, we still hear about him today. The only difference is, we call him the Banished One.”
That got Grus’ full and complete attention. Lanius had been sure it would. The older man leaned toward him, intent as a hunter on his prey. “Milvago was … what? The name he had before he was cast down from the heavens?”
“Yes.” Lanius nodded. “The name he had when he was a god. I found it on an ancient parchment in the ecclesiastical archives under the cathedral.”
“The name he had when he was a god,” Grus echoed. “Do you have any idea how strange that sounds?”
“Believe me, Your Majesty, it sounds at least as strange to me as it does to you,” Lanius replied. “I haven’t said anything about this to anyone, not till now.”