Lord Unon sat, watching the officers being escorted away, and sighed. “Your father could not be so charismatic if his face shone like an engil’s,” he said, adjusting his glasses and opening the folder he had clutched so tightly.

“I would thank you not to speak ill of my father, My Lord,” Lya said, folding her hands in her lap.

“I meant no offense; your father would agree with me.” He didn’t look up from the folder. “It is fortuitous you came just now, Your Majesty,” he said. “Your father and I had been discussing the mission to the Ravenlands . . . we are both concerned by what those officers,” he pointed at the door, where the sailors and Marine had gone out, “have seen.” His expression eased away to a gentle smile. “Your father wanted to go himself, quite terribly, and I felt like a mean old man for telling him he couldn’t.”

“Yes, well, the lords of the Apella might have a problem with letting the sitting Prince go gallivanting off into the sunset.”

“They would weep and lament,” Unon said levelly, though the gleam in his eyes gave his own brand of humor away, “and then they would burn the City down around us, as they realized how much power they could have without him around to spank them.” He snorted. “Still felt like a mean old man, when I pointed that out.”

“I’m sure my brother could hold the Apella in check,” Lya said.

Unon glanced up and did not answer for a long moment. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I don’t think he could,” he said finally, his tone carefully neutral.

Lya bit down hard, sudden, protective anger stirring in her breast. Unon had been the Throne’s ally for as long as her father had been alive, but that did not grant him the leave to insult her family—that was her right. “I don’t care what rumors you have heard, My Lord—it is not true . . . his collapse today in the Apella was a singular occurrence.”

“I haven’t heard a single rumor.” Unon’s expression was perfectly relaxed, and she could almost slap him for the gentle way he said it, as if he were dealing with one of his granddaughters, and not the daughter of the Prince. “This is the fourth time your brother has fainted, unless there is a time I haven’t witnessed. Once in the gardens, twice just after a meeting with the cabinet, another—”

“Enough, My Lord,” Lya ground out.

Unon made a sound in his throat that was somewhere between a dry laugh and a concerned grunt. “I have only the City’s interests in mind, Your Majesty. I don’t mean to offend you or your brother, but there will already be public shock at the incident in the Apella; to have your brother collapse in the midst of a council of Ravens . . . it would be a disaster.”

Lya was quiet, trying to understand what he meant by that last bit, and Unon turned back to his folder. “You mean to send Thaos,” she said finally. “To the Ravenlands.”

“Your father does. I haven’t been able to adequately convince him of the . . . problems that might arise in doing so.” He sighed. “I would rather send one of the more trustworthy trados lords . . . or yourself, Your Majesy, for that matter.”

Before Lya could respond, the door she had come through opened once more, and a Guardsman stepped through, holding the door for the Prince of Pothomar. Behind him, Thaos followed, looking a little pale. Their father didn’t spare more than a glance for her or Unon, but Thaos seemed to see the tight set of her expression, and the way she was looking away from the old trados lord.

“The Zoirys’ officers?” Einos asked.

“I spoke with them, Father,” Lya said. “They were honored, and the Ravens argued about their worthiness. There are times those men are . . .” her expression became a tad exasperated, “tiresome.” She leaned back in her wheeled chair, steepling her hands. “In the meantime, Lord Unon and I were plotting to take the throne; the Guardsman who let you in should know what to do.”

The Guardsman in question blinked rapidly, as did Unon, who looked at her in surprise. The Guardsman hurriedly backed away from Einos. “Your Majesty—I would never—”

“You have a mean sense of humor,” Thaos grumbled, sitting across from Unon, not even giving the very pale and frightened Guardsman a glance. “Probably giving the poor man an attack of some sort.”

Unon gave a nervous chuckle at the joke, and Lya fixed him with a blank stare. The old lord seemed to understand it was recompense for insulting her father and brother, and just smiled grimly.

Thaos glanced between them for only an instant, before he said blithely, “You should have included me in your schemes; poison is a safer bet. Besides,” he smiled, as his sister’s eyes turned to him, “I know all the tasters.”

“The women among them, you mean,” Lya said as she gave a slight laugh, though her expression remained tight. She didn’t greatly appreciate him butting in when she was intent on making the trados lord uncomfortable. “But you’re right.” She looked at the Guardsman, who was standing flatfooted. “You’re dismissed; we’ll try poison next time.”

The Guardsman left just as quickly as he could.

Unon shuffled through the papers in his folder yet again to mask his discomfort. “I believe we were discussing the mission to the Ravens, Your Majesty,” he said to Einos, once his monarch had settled himself back into a dignified pace; walking between a window and a bust of Alekis Mar. “Before the tharos’, and all of that . . . stuff about plots and regicide.” He glanced to Lya pointedly.

“Yes, yes,” Einos said. “You were forcing reality down my throat while I sputtered and protested. I’m getting older, but I still can remember back fifteen minutes without everything going hazy.”

Unon chuffed a short laugh and Thaos slumped back in his seat, still lacking a little color but listening. “They still sing about the Pikes of Augaham, when they came marching down from the Eastern Spine,” Unon said. “This council is no light thing. If all was just, Your Majesty, you should go north to meet with our old friends.”

“I don’t need you to set me up for the letdown,” Einos said, his tone suddenly biting. “I can’t go because the Apella won’t think it proper, and because some of them would be only too happy to see me gone. I understand that; my talk of going were the hopes of an old man.” He gestured to where Thaos sat—a little color had crept back into the younger man’s cheeks. “My son will go in my stead. Now, come to your point, if you have one, or else leave me to the company of my children.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Unon stood up, but didn’t leave. “The Ravens are not like us, Your Majesty. Oh, they are civilized men, of course, but their lords go where they will and damned be the man who tries to take their halls by subtlety. They don’t abide by our concepts of senates and apellas. They might think it an insult that you would not come in person, but send merely your son—”

“My son holds the authority of the Throne.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but the Ravens might not see it that way . . . perhaps—”

“Lord Unon, if this concerns my son’s health, you may leave this room.”

Unon closed his mouth slowly. “As you wish, Your Majesty. I bid you a good day.”

All three of them watched the old trados lord leave, and Lya let out a long breath once he was gone. Einos ceased his pacing to turn and look at her. “Are you well, Lya? You look ready to do murder.”

“I’m well,” she lied. Her brother frowned at her, and she felt a little stab of irrational anger at the expression that flitted across his face. Her lies were not the kind that ended with her embarrassing the Throne in public—

“I need you to go with your brother,” Einos said, coming to sit where Unon had. He looked older all at once, and Lya felt her anger for her brother multiply, though she knew he couldn’t be blamed for everything. She herself should have known better than to let him come to the Apella, and the price for her inaction was her father’s weariness.

“To the Ravenlands,” she said aloud. Thaos seemed to shrink in his seat, as if trying to escape the shame, and she pointedly refused to look at him. Unon could not speak ill of her brother; that was her right.

“Lord Unon is honest, in his own politically expedient way,” Einos said. “To have you collapse,” he turned to Thaos, “in the court of a ravenlord would be . . .”

“The priests—” Thaos began.

“Yes, I know; it’s stress from that damned prison; nothing of your own fault.” From the way he said it, Lya could see he still believed his son. He looked back to Lya. “Go with him. Be courteous to the Ravens, sit with your brother, listen to their words, and . . . be ready to help him.” He glanced at his son, who looked to have withdrawn a little at his father’s words. “Son?”

“Yes . . . I understand, Father.” The pain in his voice gave Lya pause.

* * *

Lya sat in her room, a small fire in the hearth crackling. The remnants of winter seemed to have rallied for one more hurrah before it was replaced by spring for good. It wasn’t cold, exactly . . . but the fire was welcome.

The silence of the room was even more welcome.

All day she had scurried from place to place—as much as she could, in a wheeled chair—assuaging the fears of lords, and piercing them with a cold glare and a stinging word when they needed taken down a notch.

Tomorrow and the days after would be much the same, as the Guard and Navy prepared for the mission north, but it felt nice to have nothing to do for a moment. If she’d been a Temoran princess, she would have drifted through life on a cloud of pleasant diversions, but she rather suspected she wouldn’t have enjoyed it. She wasn’t so foolish.

The door sounded softly, with a gentle knock, and she smoothed her dress, though it needed nothing of the kind. Silence, and moments where nothing needed done, were rare, and all-too-often disturbed.

“You may enter,” she said.

A uniformed man poked his head through the doorway hesitantly, his eyes adjusting to the softer light. “Your Majesty,” he said, a small grimace pulling at his mouth, revealing gaps in his teeth from one too many fights. “Your brother’s here. He asks to see you, he does.” Despite his lowborn speech, he wore the plume of a Guard captain. There was a story behind it, but one that she had never managed to extract from him.

She thought about letting him in, but she wasn’t ready to forgive. He could think on the damage he had done a while longer. “Tell him to do something appropriately vulgar with himself,” she said.

The Guardsman nodded, beginning to retreat, before she said, “Shon?” At his name, the Guard stopped and waited. “Do you have any siblings? Brothers or sisters?”

“Why, Your Majesty,” he began, a little surprised, “I don’t believe you or your father have ever asked me that.” The gaps in his teeth were revealed once more, as he smiled. The expression seemed more earnest, for the gaps. “I’ve two sisters. Kept their hair wrapped, I did, by serving your family and you.” He nodded. “Kept them from the whoremongers, I did.”

“They live with you?”

“Oh, not anymore, Your Majesty. Married, the both of them, long ago, and I’m an uncle and great-uncle now with too many brats to spank in one sitting.” His smile remained. “I missed Sairda’s wedding, escorting you and your brother on the road to Polikin to carry the Rose’s banner, I did.”

That had been eleven years earlier; she’d only been six, and already realizing that life wasn’t a cloud of pleasant diversions. “Your sister must have been angry with you.”

He laughed. “Oh, she was,” he admitted. “But she loves me still, she does.” His smile became knowing.  “Shall I be telling off your brother, Your Majesty, or should I just tell him to wait for your temper to become slightly more manageable?”

A little smile appeared on her lips. “I grant you use of your own discretion.” She glanced at the fire, as it slowly burned away to nothing. “Could you send the maid, Shon?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed. “Goodnight.”