•   •   •

Pasevalles didn’t bother to reread the rest, the small bits of other business he had asked Froye to undertake for him, most of which concerned the ongoing struggle between Osten Ard’s two greatest trading powers, the Sindigato Perdruine and the upstart Northern Alliance. But none of the rest of Count Froye’s news had the import of Drusis’s marrying Dallo Ingadarine’s daughter, which would add a huge complication to an already intricate, dangerous situation that Pasevalles had been worrying over for months. Drusis was growing in power too quickly, and Duke Saluceris seemed unconcerned, or perhaps was actually helpless to fight back. To Pasevalles it all smelled of disaster. Sometimes it was hard not to wonder whether he had been helping the wrong brother.

What could be done? King Simon and Queen Miriamele were still a fortnight away from the Hayholt. Pasevalles had heard rumors from merchants, whose ships had recently returned from the south, that conflict between the two rival Nabbanai houses had grown loud and occasionally violent, with drunken street brawls and a near-riot at the Circus of Larexes after the chariot races. House Ingadaris had long resented the power King John had given to House Benidrivis, and now the Ingadarine supporters, who wore the Albatross badge of the house and called themselves “Stormbirds,” were brawling in public with the duke’s Kingfisher loyalists.

It’s like an overturned lantern, he thought. How quickly do I have to put out this fire before it catches and grows beyond control? But Nabban was also the most populous nation of the High Ward, its leaders historically prideful and stubborn. What could he do to keep the fire from spreading too fast?

I can do nothing, he realized. Only the king and queen can do what needs to be done. And they are not here.

His brooding was interrupted by a knock. The guard announced Brother Etan, so Pasevalles folded the letter and put it into his purse.

“Forgive me for bothering you, my lord.”

“Nonsense, Brother. I welcome a distraction. What news?”

The young monk seemed uneasy. “Lady Thelía and I have been with the Sitha woman. When she’s been able to speak, she says she has been poisoned, and it certainly seems there might be some truth to that. Nearly a month has passed since she was struck down, and still she suffers terrible fevers.”

“What poison could have effects that would last so long and still not kill?”

“I couldn’t say, Lord. My experience does not lie that way, and please remember that the patient is . . . unusual.”

Pasevalles smiled despite himself. “That’s so. But you still have not told me how she fares at the moment.”

“She has mostly slept since Lady Thelía began to give her physic. Her rest seems a little more peaceful now, but it is hard to say. She is very weak. Her breathing is so soft it is hard to see her breast lift and fall sometimes.”

“I will pray for her, as I’m sure you do.” Pasevalles did his best to disperse the swarm of other worries that had beset him like buzzing flies. “Will you take some wine, Brother?”

“No. No, thank you, my lord. I am needed back at St. Sutrin’s for Nonamansa, and I would not have His Eminence Archbishop Gervis smell it on my breath.”

“Well, by the Bowl of Saint Pelippa, what would he have you drink instead? Nothing but well water? It would be a short, sad, and sickly life for you then, wouldn’t it?”

Etan smiled, but his heart did not seem to be in it. “I suppose it would, my lord. But there is something else I wish to talk to you about. It concerns the princess. Dowager Princess Idela, that is.”

“Ah.” Pasevalles did his best to keep a cheerful expression on his face. “Of course. I asked you to help her with those books of her husband’s. Did you know the prince, Etan?”

“Prince John Josua? No, Lord Chancellor. I was still at the abbey of St. Cuthman’s in Meremund when he was taken from us. I know the prince was a much-loved young man, a great scholar.” There was still something odd in Etan’s expression, but Pasevalles could not unpuzzle it.

“Yes, he was a very fine man, Brother. But God did not give him a strong body, and he was often sickly. That is one reason, I think, that he grew so bookish. The volumes he collected could take him to many places that his frail body could not.”

Pasevalles wished he could return to the matter of Froye’s letter. “And were the volumes worthy of being preserved in the new library? Of course, simply having belonged to the prince would give them value, I think, since the library is being created in his honor.”

“Yes, lord. Most of them were interesting but not unusual. However . . .”

Etan trailed off. Pasevalles could hear it too, the noise of a scuffle just outside the door. His hand dropped to the dagger at his waist, but a moment later he recognized one of the voices—a small but distinctly high-pitched voice.

The door popped open and Princess Lillia spilled into the room, followed closely by a flustered Erkynguardsman, who might as well have been trying to capture an oiled serpent. “Pasevalles!” the child shouted. “Lord Pasevalles! Have you heard the news?”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” the red-faced guard said. “I was afraid I might hurt her if I grabbed too hard . . .”

Pasevalles waved him out, but before the guard could retreat, another face appeared in the door behind the princess.

“Oh, you wicked child!” said Countess Rhona. “Mircha love you, you are quick as a cat! I’m sorry, Lord Pasevalles, she simply outran me.”

“Have you heard?” said Lillia, jumping up and down in excitement. “Have you heard? Grandma and Grandpa are coming!”

Pasevalles tried to make sense of the sudden eruption. “Have I heard what? Yes, they are coming soon. A fortnight, perhaps . . .”

Lillia stopped and her eyes grew wide at the importance of her message and at Pasevalles’ amazing, wonderful ignorance. “No! They’re here!”

He turned helplessly to the countess. “What is she talking about?”

“She’s telling the truth, actually, Lord Pasevalles. The messenger just arrived. They’re not here, Lillia, you silly girl, but they are very close. The messenger says they stayed last night at Dalchester, but are already on the road for home today.”

“Dalchester? But they will be here by tomorrow night! Why are they so early?”

Countess Rhona shook her head. “The messenger from the king and queen would not say—not to me, anyway. He’s waiting for you down in the post hall. Will you go to him?”

“Of course.” Pasevalles stood. “This is excellent news! Brother Etan, we will continue our conversation some other time, yes?”

“Yes, my lord.” The monk looked a bit grim, but Pasevalles supposed it was the memory of dealing with the dowager princess that made him so.

He is a little unhappy with me for using him as a shield against Princess Idela, perhaps. Still, no matter. Etan’s discontent, whatever caused it, could wait. The king and queen were returning—early, yes, but not a moment too soon as far as Pasevalles was concerned. Many things had to be made ready to welcome them home as they deserved.

26 The Inner Council

The Avrel gusts were so strong they made the banners on tower tops jump and snap—“a wind so hard you could hang your clothes on it,” as old Rachel the Dragon, the mistress of chambermaids during Simon’s youth, used to say. Simon even saw a few green and gold pennants whisked from people’s hands and thrown up into the sky to race with the clouds. Market Square was filled with cheering people, thousands of them, along with hundreds of merchants busily selling them beer and food, as well as at least a few other folk, Simon felt sure, intent on picking their pockets. All of Erchester, it seemed, had come out to welcome home their queen and their king.