“The Grand Bishop is with him now,” Indergast said from behind her. “As is His Grace the duke and the rest of the cabinet.”
She faltered but didn’t break stride. This wasn’t a matter of an ailing man wanting to see his daughter, then. If the king had summoned his ministers, then he had something official to say. Raesinia breathed a silent thanks to Indergast for the warning, told her bodyguards to wait outside with the rest of the king’s protectors, and slipped in the door.
The king’s bedchamber was small by the standards of Ohnlei, which meant that it wasn’t quite large enough to host a tennis match. The royal bed was enormous, though, its four oak posts practically trembling under the weight of silks and velvet hangings. In the center of it, drowning in a sea of covers and embroidered cushions, the king was visible only as a disembodied head surrounded by expensive fabric.
A group of well-dressed men stood at the end of the bed, huddled together for mutual support. The Grand Bishop of Vordan, prevented from huddling by the voluminous folds of his crimson robes of office, affected an ecclesiastical aloofness a little ways off.
It was apparent to Raesinia that she had walked into the middle of an argument, though one that might not have been obvious to anyone who hadn’t spent their lives at Ohnlei. It was the kind of roundabout, exquisitely polite disagreement carried on by men who are aware that their opponent could, technically, have them executed.
“I’m certain Your Majesty has considered the matter carefully,” said a large, thick-bearded man at the front of the huddle. This was Count Torahn, the Minister of War, his soldier’s physique running to fat beneath the careful tailoring of his court uniform. His normally florid complexion was practically aglow now. “But I wonder if you have given a thought to the situation from my position. We are speaking of a young and talented officer, showing great promise, and to remove him to what is, after all, an interior post. .”
“So promising that you sent him to Khandar?” said the king. It made Raesinia’s heart break just to hear him, his voice reduced from the confident baritone she remembered to a wheezy, petulant rasp.
“Where he has achieved great things,” Torahn said smoothly. “And, in due time, if his career is not interrupted-”
“I’ll leave that to his judgment,” the king said. “He may choose to decline the post.”
“But he will not, Your Majesty.” This was from the Minister of Finance, Rackhil Grieg. He had always reminded Raesinia of a ferret, with a narrow face and beady, wary eyes, an effect that was not helped by his unfortunate choice to wear his ratty brown hair long at the back. Torahn shot him an ugly look when he spoke up. Grieg was a commoner, unique on the cabinet, and the others resented him for it. He owed his advancement entirely to the patronage of the Last Duke, and was therefore widely considered to be Orlanko’s creature.
“After all,” Grieg went on, “an offer from Your Majesty is an honor not to be lightly refused. Even if it went against his judgment of what was best for the service, would he not feel obligated to accept so as not to dishonor Your Majesty with his refusal?”
“That’s true,” Torahn said, recognizing a good line of attack like a proper soldier. “For any officer of the Royal Army, Your Majesty’s wishes must be placed above any doubts or personal concerns.”
“Does that include you, Torahn?” the king snapped, with a little of his old vigor.
The Minister of War bowed deeply. “I am only attempting to bring to Your Majesty’s attention aspects of the matter that may have escaped your notice. We will, of course, abide by Your Majesty’s ultimate decision.”
Even from across the room, Raesinia could read the expression on her father’s face. She decided the time had come for an interruption.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Raesinia bobbed her head in the direction of the ministers, then curtsied deeply toward the bed. “Your Majesty, you sent for me?”
“I did,” the king said. “The rest of you, out. I would speak to my daughter alone.”
Raesinia stepped aside so the assembled notables could file past her. The Grand Bishop murmured something sympathetic in his heavy Murnskai accent as he went by, and Torahn dismissed her with a glance and a perfunctory nod.
Only the last one to leave caught her eye. He was a short man, no taller than Raesinia, and his bulging waistcoat made him look very nearly round. The crown of his head was bald, but a wild ruff of hair behind his ears and around the back of his skull made up for it, giving him the look of a classical philosopher. The most remarkable thing about his appearance, though, was his spectacles. They were enormous, each lens almost a handsbreadth in diameter, and so thick and curved that they provided only the most distorted vision of the face behind them. Strange, twisted blobs of nose- and cheek-tinted color moved and twisted as he turned his head, but when he looked straight at you, as he looked at Raesinia now, his eyes would suddenly appear magnified disconcertingly to five times their normal size.
It would be easy to dismiss this funny little man, and many had done so, always to their sorrow. His Grace Duke Mallus Kengire Orlanko, Minister of Information and master of the Concordat, was always ready to embrace any advantage, even that offered by his own innocuous appearance. Raesinia was not fooled. The Last Duke was widely agreed to be the most dangerous man in Vordan, and she had spent enough time at the palace to know that this was, if anything, an understatement. She wasn’t certain there was a more dangerous man in all the world.
Today he favored her with only a brief smile and a little bow before continuing on his way, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Raesinia went to the bed, which was so big she was forced to climb up onto it to reach her father. He extracted one hand from the constricting comforters and reached out to her, and she took it between both of hers. It was thin and light, like a songbird in her palm. His bones seemed as brittle as twigs, and his skin was papery-dry.
He turned his head in her direction and blinked watery eyes. “Raesinia?”
“I’m here, Father.” She gripped his hand a little tighter. “It’s good to see you awake.”
“For a change.” He coughed. “Every time I wake up, I think of a thousand things to do, in case this time is the last. But I’m always exhausted before I can get through one or two.” He closed his eyes and let out a rattling breath. “I’m sorry, Raesinia.”
“Don’t speak that way, Father,” Raesinia said. “This may be the beginning of an improvement. Doctor-Professor Indergast-”
“Doctor-Professor Indergast is honest with me,” he interrupted. “Unlike the rest of the fools and flatterers, or that great whale in red.”
“He is very skilled,” Raesinia insisted. “Better than any other doctor in Vordan.”
“Some things are beyond skill.” The king squeezed her hand and opened his eyes. “But I did not call you here to argue.”
Raesinia ducked her head, and there was a moment of silence while the king composed his thoughts. Finally, he said, “Do you know Count Janus bet Vhalnich Mieran?”
“Only in passing,” Raesinia said, blinking in surprise. “He was at court three years ago, I think. We spoke briefly.”
“You do not know much about him, then?”
“Just that he went to Khandar to suppress the rebellion, and that he’s been doing well. Why?”
“His mission to Khandar has been a success. A complete success, in fact, beyond anyone’s expectations. Even our good Minister of Information seemed surprised, and you know how rare an event that is.” He gave a dry chuckle, which turned into another cough. “I’ve summoned him back to Vordan. He’s on his way as we speak. When he gets here, I’m going to make him the Minister of Justice.”
Raesinia was quiet. Plans rearranged themselves at the back of her mind, new information slotting into place. She kept her expression neutral.
“I’m sure he’ll do well there,” she said, after a moment. “But-”