Ambassador Gristil was easy to like and that was also why I intensely disliked him.  He was too good at his job.  He was charming, witty, and particularly good with the ladies.  His mother had red hair, it was said, but he’d only inherited some red highlights in his otherwise ordinary brown, along freckles and a tendency to burn easily in the sunlight.  He wasn’t particularly athletic, either.  More of a scholarly look to him.  But he dressed at the forefront of emerging fashion and every noble kept an eye on him to see where the trends would lead.  Most notable was the burn scar on the right side of his face.  It tugged on his lip when he smiled, giving him a lopsided grin that he turned into a charming effect simply by tilting his head to offset it.

A deliberate, practiced gesture.  He knew how to make people like him.  It was a dangerous skill in an ambassador, whose main function was to make the various powers in the kingdom like him, and in proxy, the nation he represented.

He represented the kingdom on our northern border.  We tried to maintain good relationships with them, as they had an unusually high concentration of mages and if anything was going to be a threat to a kingdom of gods, it was going to be a kingdom of mages.  Unfortunately, our peace was a fragile thing.  We’d been on the brink of war in the past many times, and while it’d been relatively peaceful in my lifetime, everyone’s fear was that it was only a brief respite from our usual tension.

A dead god was one such thing that could upset our delicate balance.

It was quite typical for ambassadors to associate with the Beloved, as my time was far more available than the queen’s.  I, in particular, was especially appealing to our current set of ambassadors.  I had a reputation for being accommodating, which was great when I was only associating with the people I wanted to associate with.  Now that I was thrust into the middle of royal politics, that same reputation worked against me.  If they couldn’t make headway with Queen Misht, then perhaps they could ingratiate themselves with the Beloved.  The Beloved could control the gods, after all, and that made me almost as powerful as the queen.

Perhaps more powerful, if we had a god in the capital city.  The gods could replace the monarch and had done so once in the past.

This was why the throne chose their Beloved so carefully and why the temple was held so carefully in check.  It was why her spies were nestled deep inside the priesthood and why I had no doubt that some of those spies would double as assassins if needed.

Unfortunately for me, Queen Misht had chosen well, as I had no intention of doing anything the crown wouldn’t like.  Too much hassle.  Seemed like a lot of unnecessary stress that I didn’t want in my life.

Sadly, the ambassadors and nobles hadn’t quite caught on to that and probably never would, as despite all my complaints I am a loyal subject to the queen, and this particular subterfuge serves her very well.  I was on the ambassadors’ list of people to curry favor with and I wasn’t going to put a stop to it.

Also they brought me presents.

I can be a little materialistic.

“Beloved Alyere!” Ambassador Gristil cooed as he was admitted to my sitting room.  “I have heard some dreadful rumors coming from Manere.”

Which translates to, ‘our spies are quite well embedded in the city and now you have to guess how much they’ve found out.’

“Oh, it was such awful business,” I replied.  “I’m so glad to be back in the capital again, among such illustrious company.”

Which translates to, ‘fuck you.’

Okay, so sometimes the pliable facade drops.  Ambassador Gristil, however, appeared to like me even more because of that.  He had also done his research well, for he brought me the gifts best suited to my tastes.  Today he had several, making me suspect he’d been saving them, perhaps purchasing them in advance of my return to the capital only to be disappointed when Queen Misht sent me out almost the very next day.  There was a necklace, some perfume, and the inevitable canister of tea.

The assortment of tiny cakes, however, must have been purchased that very morning.  I clapped my hands in excitement that I didn’t have to feign.  They formed a shape, like the petals of a rose, and each one was a different color and therefore surely a different flavor.  I wasted no time in sending Opnie for tea.  We were going to be here for a while.  I wanted to try all of them.

“I saw your father the other day,” Gristil said carefully.

All smiles in public, Queen Misht had commanded.  I forced one on my face.

“Yes, I’m delighted to see him again,” I said.  “We’re going to lunch tomorrow.”

He regarded me for a moment with a solemn expression, not returning the fake cheer I was displaying.  He had no intention of playing along this time and my heart raced a little faster.  He was supposed to play along.  We weren’t in the sort of position that would allow us to be honest with each other.

“Do you want me to interrupt?” he asked quietly.

Why was he offering this?  Was he trying to trick me into trusting him by supporting me when I was vulnerable?  Or worse - was this an honest attempt to help?  Were my reasons for hating my father so obvious to outsiders?

And did it matter, really?  The queen wanted me to reconcile with my father but she also wanted me to position myself close to Gristil to see what I could learn.  I could accomplish both at once.  Gristil would keep my confidence.  He had to, if he wanted to remain in the Beloved’s good graces.

“Yes,” I said.  “Please.”

“I can’t invent a reason to steal you away,” he said with a shrug, “but I can keep a conversation going so you don’t have to.”

An easy enough ploy.  He’d show up, be delighted to run into us both, invent a reason to want to talk to my father, and then I no longer had to worry about my father wanting to talk about something important between him and I.  About something that might hurt.

I hated how relieved I felt.  It made me feel gratitude towards the ambassador and that was a dangerous thing right now.

He really was too good at his job.