"Sit down," Lanius urged. As Anser did, the king went on, "I've got a servant bringing you wine. What can I do for you? You're not usually out and about so early if you aren't hunting."
Anser looked faintly embarrassed, which startled Lanius almost as much as the ceremonial regalia did. "I have a favor to ask of you, Your Majesty," the arch-hallow said. "I haven't asked many, have I?"
"You've asked so few, it almost makes me suspicious," Lanius answered. "Go ahead and ask, and we'll see what happens then." He wasn't foolish enough to promise to grant favors no matter what. Kings had gotten themselves in a lot of trouble with promises like that.
After a deep breath, Anser said, "Your Majesty, please let my father out of that monastery. If you do, I swear I'll never ask another thing of you for as long as I live – not even to go hunting with me, if you don't want me to."
"He would be pleased with you, to know you've asked this," Lanius said. "He would be proud of you, too."
"He did everything for me," Anser said simply. "Plenty of bastards don't even know who their father is. But he made sure I always had enough. And then when he got the crown… Well, look what he did. Do you think I'd be wearing this" – he flapped the sleeve of his robe – "if not for him?" He snorted to show how unlikely that was, then went on, "So you see, Your Majesty, I'd do anything for him, too. I'm not too proud to beg you to set him free. Please."
With some regret, Lanius shook his head. "I'm not going to do that. I'm sorry, but I'm not. I'm the King of Avornis now. I didn't expect to be, not until he'd lived out his days. Frankly, I thought I was sure to lose if I rose against him. Maybe I was wrong – who knows? But if I called him back to the city of Avornis, I couldn't very well do it without seeing the crown go back on his head, too, could I? You may think I'm heartless, but I just don't want to do that."
"I don't think you're heartless, Your Majesty. I would never think so," Anser said. "You'll do what you think you have to do, but please understand that I've got to do the same thing."
"I do understand that," Lanius said. "And I think it's sad that his legitimate son overthrew him and his bastard is pleading for me to turn the hourglass upside down again, but I can't change that."
"Neither can I. I wish I could," Anser replied. "Ortalis… Ortalis always knew he couldn't live up to his father, and he couldn't live up to what his father wanted from him. Me, I was further away. I didn't have to live up to anything at all. I was glad enough just to live, and to live pretty well."
Lanius thought there was a lot of truth in what his half brother-in-law said – a lot, but not enough. "Not being able to live up to what Grus wanted of him wasn't the only trouble Ortalis had," the king said. "That mean streak, that taste for blood and pain, was all his own."
"It was," Sosia said softly. "He always had it, as far back as I can remember."
"Well, I didn't know him then – or you, Your Majesty," Anser said to her. "I'll have to take your word for that." He turned back to Lanius. "But it doesn't have anything to do with why you should or shouldn't let my father come back. He didn't do anything to deserve what Ortalis did to him. I should say not! Look how much Avornis owes him. The Scepter of Mercy back again! Could anyone have imagined that?"
I had something to do with it, too, Lanius thought. He couldn't have done it without Grus, but Grus couldn't have done it without him, either. He said, "The Scepter accepts me, too, you know."
"Oh, of course, Your Majesty! I never said it didn't," Anser said quickly. "But…" He spread his hands. "You know what I mean."
"I do," Lanius said. "But I'm the king now, and I intend to stay the king for as long as I last."
Anser sadly bowed his head. "Then there's not much I can do about this, is there? Thanks for hearing me out, anyhow." He bowed to Lanius, then to Sosia, and left the room.
Sosia sighed. She quickly finished eating and also hurried out. She might understand why Lanius was doing what he was doing, but that didn't mean she liked it, either. Lanius sighed, too. He poured his own cup of wine full again, and then again after that. He wasn't a man in the habit of getting drunk before noon. Today, though, he made an exception.
Grus had won a promotion. From peeling turnips, he'd advanced to measuring out grain and beans and dried peas, pouring them into big iron kettles full of boiling water, and stirring the stews with a long-handled wooden spoon. It wasn't exciting work – he wasn't sure such a thing as exciting work existed anywhere in the monastery – but it was a step up. When Neophron offered it to him, he took it.
As long as he was in the kitchens or at whatever other work Abbot Pipilo set him, he was contented enough. It was something to do, something not too hard, something to keep him busy through most of the day. Things could have been worse.
When he wasn't at his labors, things were worse. He couldn't avoid Ortalis and Petrosus; the monastery wasn't big enough. Whenever he got near one of them, he got into a quarrel. He didn't start the arguments, but he didn't back away from them, either. If he hadn't backed away from King Dagipert or the Banished One, he didn't intend to back away from his son or a palace functionary, either.
After the seventh or eighth shouting match in the courtyard, he did go to see Pipilo in the abbot's office. Pipilo was scribbling something on a piece of parchment when Grus knocked on the open door and stood waiting in the doorway. "Come in, Brother," Pipilo said. "And what can I do for you today?"
His tone said, Let's get this over with so I can go back to the important things I was doing before I had to deal with the likes of you. Grus fought to hide a smile. Sure enough, the abbot was a king in his own little realm. Grus couldn't begin to remember how many times he'd used that same tone himself.
"Father Abbot, isn't this supposed to be a place of peace?" he asked.
"Of course, Brother," Pipilo answered. "But what a place is supposed to be and what it turns out to be aren't always the same. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I don't think you'll say I'm lying."
"No, not at all," Grus agreed. "Still, I would like to be able to get through a day without at least one screaming row."
"I can see how you might, yes," the abbot said judiciously. "It was perhaps unfortunate that three men who have such strong reasons to disagree with one another were all gathered together in the same place."
"Perhaps it was." Grus went along with the understatement. "Is there any chance one or two of us might be moved to another monastery?"
Pipilo spread his hands, as though to show the limits of his domain. "I have not the authority to make such a transfer, Brother. It is possible to send a petition back to the city of Avornis, a petition I would endorse. But what my endorsement would do, if anything, I am not sure. This is the most, ah, secure monastery in the kingdom, which is why each of the three of you was sent here."
Why each of the three of you will stay here, he might as well have said. "By your leave, I will write that petition," Grus said. "The worst I can hear is no, and no leaves me no worse off."
"By all means, Brother. You may have parchment and pen for the purpose," Pipilo said. "And I wish you good fortune from it – not because I am not glad of your company here, for you have shown yourself a worthy monk, but because, if the king grants it, you will find more tranquility in your life."
"Tranquility," Grus murmured. He'd had a lot of things in his life, but, up until now, rarely that. Did the abbot really think him a worthy monk? Pipilo must have. He didn't need to keep Grus sweet. It was the other way around here. Grus hadn't had many finer compliments than that.