“Sit, sit, sit. No need to get up. It’s only us here, after all.”
Daskellin smiled, but it seemed halfhearted. “As you say, my lord.”
“So you’ve met with your counterparts from Northcoast?” Geder asked, sitting on a divan. He felt tired and relaxed. He’d known Sabiha’s situation had made him anxious, but he hadn’t known how much so until now. His body felt like he was being lowered into a warm and soothing bath.
“Unofficially, of course. But—”
“Are they standing back? They aren’t going to interfere in Birancour, are they?”
“There are no immediate plans to,” Daskellin said. “But they are paying a great deal of attention.”
“You explained that we aren’t upset with the crown there, only that the conspiracy has its roots in Porte Oliva?”
“At the Medean bank in Porte Oliva. And since the bank’s holding company is in Carse, King Tracian is feeling it might come closer to him than he’d like. He’s only the second generation on the throne there, and there are people even in Camnipol who still talk about his mother as an usurper. Threats to the stability of his kingdom strike him hard. But that isn’t what brought me this morning. There’s news of the war.”
“Oh,” Geder said, sitting up a little straighter. He was suddenly very aware of being in another man’s house, unbathed, unshaved, and poorly slept. He wiped his palms against his thighs. “Then, yes. All right. We should go to the Kingspire. Find Aster and Basrahip. Whatever needs to be looked at—”
“Actually, my lord, it may be best that we’re here. The news isn’t only for you.”
Geder’s worst fears—that the army had collapsed or that Jorey had been hurt or killed—were so vivid that when it came out that the blockade had been broken by a rogue fleet and Lord Skestinin taken hostage by the governor of Porte Oliva, it was almost a relief. Lady Skestinin received the news with less calm. Her countenance, so recently softened by the arrival of her new granddaughter, went grey and craggy as a cliff face. She gripped her hands so tightly Geder expected to hear her bones creak. When she spoke, her voice was tight and controlled. Had there been ransom demands? No, there had not. Was there reason to think his lordship still lived? There was no certain information one way or the other, but the governor of Porte Olive had a reputation as a cautious and shrewd fellow, more in love with the world’s luxuries than the glory of battle. The expectation was that Lord Skestinin would be held as a bargaining point when the time came to sue for peace. How would the capture of the commander of the fleet affect the campaign on land? It was only when Daskellin lifted his brows that Geder realized this last was something only he could answer.
“Ah… yes, well,” he said, twisting his index finger with his off hand. “We can’t let the enemy see us as weak. I mean, can we? It wouldn’t be good or prudent. And with Jorey already in enemy territory, and the dragons, and I just… I mean, I don’t know. I don’t see how…”
“I understand,” Lady Skestinin said, to Geder’s surprise. The deeper he’d been into the answer, the less he’d felt he knew what he was getting at. Her hard eyes were on him, and then perhaps he did understand. He had just told her that he would not stop the war to save her husband’s life. If he had to be sacrificed, he would be. Geder wanted to take that back, to assure her that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her family.
Except that wasn’t true.
“I will do what I can,” Geder said, aware as he did how weak and equivocal he sounded.
“Use your best judgment, Lord Regent,” Lady Skestinin said. “Please excuse me.”
She sailed from the room, her spine straight as a mast. Geder blew his breath out. Daskellin nodded sympathetically.
“Hard day,” he said. “She’s added one to her family, and lost another.”
“Not yet,” Geder said. “Nothing’s lost yet.”
“I hope that you’re right, my lord,” Daskellin said, but he didn’t sound convinced. In truth, neither was Geder.
Stepping back from his duties as the protector of the Severed Throne, even for just the time it had taken to resolve Sabiha’s illness, meant a massive wave of tasks awaited him. There were invitations to a dozen different events, some given merely for the sake of form, but others that he was expected to attend. Petitions waited for him, and arrangements that needed to be made before the general audience. Reports had come from Dar Cinlama in the back roads of Hallskar and young Sir Essian from the north coast of Lyoneia outlining the progress of their explorations. Letters asking for direction and advice had arrived from the protectors of Nus and Asinport, reminding him of what he’d known since Vanai: taking a city was often simpler than managing it after. And Jorey’s reports on the army’s progress. And the analysis of the assaults inspired by the shadowy enemy Callon Cane and his system of bounties and rewards for attacking Antea. And arrangements to be made for Aster’s birthday celebrations—there would be several. And his own father’s notes from Rivenhalm about the small doings at what the old man still called Geder’s home.
Geder sat at a large table, the papers that had accrued while he was worrying over Sabiha arrayed before him like an inedible feast. Polished stones kept the breeze from the narrow windows from disarranging things. He sat with his head in his hands and wondered what would happen if he accidentally lit the whole lot of them afire. The idea of starting again with a cleaned slate was powerfully attractive. But…
“May I get you some tea, Lord Regent?”
“Yes,” Geder said, picking up the first of the reports. “And some food to go with it. Something sweet, with butter.”
“Yes, my lord,” the servant said and bowed his way out of the room.
Fallon Broot, his protector in Suddapal, was seeing a rash of suspicious fires in the fivefold city. He had sent out patrols with a spider priest assigned to each of them, but thus far hadn’t discovered the arsonists. There was at least one incident when an arrow had struck the street near enough that it seemed the attackers were aiming for the priests. Ernst Mecelli, one of Geder’s closest advisors along with Canl Daskellin and Cyr Emming, had paused in his review of the previous year’s conquests, stopping in Inentai. He didn’t say anything directly, but Geder had the sense he was worried that the temple being built there might not have enough common soldiery to support it. It probably would have been a meaningful concern if the temple hadn’t also been under the protection of the goddess. But Mecelli didn’t have as much inside knowledge as Geder did.
The tea and sweet cakes arrived while Geder was paging through a lengthy report from Essian about the various household rumors among the Southlings of Lyoneia. Maps of ancient treasure were apparently something of an industry down there, but the adventurer—with the help, of course, of the spider priest who had accompanied him—had discovered the name of some sort of holy woman among the Drowned who lived off the eastern coast, and he was now trying to arrange an audience with her. Sir Ammen Cersillian, presently in charge of the siege at Kiaria, reported little change. The Timzinae forces showed no signs of capitulation, and even the greatest speaking trumpets seemed unable to carry the voices of the priesthood to them. It was a pity, because the convincing gifts of the goddess were so much more efficient than those of troops. With the body of the army in Birancour, an outright assault on the Timzinae stronghold would have to wait. Keeping the enemies of Antea contained would be enough for now, Geder thought. He paused to eat his cakes before the tea went cool.
When Basrahip lumbered in, Geder felt a profound relief. Something to distract him from the papers. And he’d only barely started with them. It was going to take days just to catch up. An hour or two of friendly conversation with the priest wouldn’t cost him much.