'A liar!' said Hearst. 'I know that much, at least. I found the messenger, you see. The wounded man who brought the message saying the Rice Empire was invading the Harvest Plains.'
'How did you recognise him?' 'Nobody commands soldiers without developing a good head for faces. I recognised him. You know I told Miphon to make a special point of seeing to him, but Miphon was told he was dead.'
'Of course. He would have seen straight away that the man had only been recently wounded. You'd have known the same if you'd been the one to clean and dress his wound. For our story to work -'
T had to believe he'd spent days on horseback riding all the way from the border. So you told your lie. But why, Farfalla?'
'You were talking of a siege.' said Farfalla. 'How long would that have lasted? Androlmarphos could have been resupplied from the sea. To take the city, you'd have had to storm the walls and light for possession street by street, house by house. The city would have been destroyed, its people with it. I did what I had to.'
'You lied to me,' said Hearst.
'Considered as an instrument of state, a lie, unlike a sword, draws no blood.'
'Ohio died because of your lies.' 'So he died. Someone had to die.' 'He was my friend!'
'And does that make you think you have a monopoly on suffering?' said Farfalla. 'Do you know what I suffer? Do you know what I have to go through? 'I didn't want this. I never wanted this. I grew up in Kelebes, a potter's daughter. Do you know once I was chosen, I could never see my family again? That's the law. To secure the equitable government of the Harvest Plains. To protect against nepotism. Fine phrases, aren't they? Just think for one moment what that law means to the kingmaker.
'My sons are soldiers. Do you think that's what I would have chosen for them? The law decided their destiny, Morgan. I'm the ruler of the greatest nation in Argan, but I'm a prisoner of the law. You've told me how you've suffered, Morgan, but you're not the only one who's suffered.
'You can't imagine the burdens of power – being responsible for the life or death of an entire empire. You can't imagine the difficulties of government when there's so many ready to take advantage of the slightest weakness, the slightest failing. I think -'
'Don't talk to me of the burdens of power,' said Hearst. 'Power is its own reward – the greatest reward known. There's not a single person in your empire who doesn't envy you, not one who doesn't wish they could be you.'
'Do you really believe that?' said Farfalla. 'Yes,' said Hearst.
'So you'd take that power if I offered it to you.' 'Sure, sure,' said Hearst. 'On a slice of the moon garnished with Stardust.' 'I'm serious!'
'Then you're seriously ill. Is it that time of month?' She slapped him. Hard. Three times. 'You dogshit barbarian!' she said.
'I won't deny my nature,' said Hearst, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. 'I'm clearly not the person to be offered a throne – not even in jest.'
'Morgan, I wasn't joking. And I don't joke now. My land needs a hero. To the north, Runcorn. To the south, Stokos. The enemy's strength is broken. Now is the time to strike. And, while we're about it, to clean up the Rice Empire.'
Hearst, trying to stop the bleeding from his nose, did not answer. So Farfalla continued: 'The people are ready for you, Morgan. We can teach you what you need to know – language, law, manners. Especially manners! I can abdicate in your favour. That would make difficulties, but those difficulties would yield to necessity and popular demand. Will yield! We need a conqueror.'
'I've fought enough wars already.'
'Have you? Aren't you tempted? Morgan, you could conquer all of Argan!'
He was, for a moment, tempted. He had, for a moment, a vision of a future in which he conquered all, and united the nation of Rovac with his empire of conquest. Despite everything he had said to Alish, Hearst was not entirely immune to the appeal of the old dreams, the old stories. But…
'Even if that's what I wanted,' said Hearst, T still don't believe that your people would accept me. Not as their ruler.'
'I,' said Farfalla, 'will organise a banquet in your honour. All our most powerful people will be there. You'll see then who will accept you. I won't announce you as ruler unless you decide that's what you want. You'll meet the people. You'll see what they think of you.'
'I'll come to your banquet,' said Hearst.
And, again, he was sorely tempted by the prospect of power. But he reminded himself that he had not really been formally offered anything, yet. And reminded himself, too, that Farfalla had lied to him before – and might do so again.
He was already regretting the coarse, unpardonable joke he had made about her biology. In a royal court, people could be burnt alive for less. He also had the death-stone to worry about. He thought he had convinced Farfalla that seizing the death-stone would eventually lead to her empire being destroyed in a confrontation with the Confederation of Wizards – but what if he was wrong, and she dared regardless?
He began to seriously consider the possibility that this banquet might prove to be the occasion of his murder rather than his coronation.
Blackwood entered the Hall of Wine, the largest hall in Farfalla's palace. It was fragrant with flowers: an overflow of lilies, an explosion of roses, and tender bouquets of modest flowers such as larkspur, sea lavender and sweet alyssum.
On the walls were tapestries showing work both urban and rural. At every setting at every table, plain bread and river water were set out for the guests: a ceremonial first course to be consumed before the real feasting began.
Thanks to Miphon's intervention, there had been a break with tradition: the river water had been secretly boiled, thus minimising the risk it posed to the health of aristocrats who usually only drank wine.
No guests had yet arrived; they were attending an opera which was scheduled to end about the middle of the afternoon, after which the feast would begin.
Light for the hall came through stained glass windows showing placid countryside scenes. Nothing anywhere in the hall hinted at violence, warfare or suffering.
'Ah, Blackwood,' said Hearst, emerging from behind one of the ivy-covered trellises concealing doorways through which servants would enter and leave when the feast was underway.
'Where have you been?' said Blackwood.
'Where you haven't, obviously,' said Hearst, with impeccable logic.
'No, seriously.'
'Why seriously? You have an objection to the comical? Eh? You've got a face about as cheery as a pig's backside. What's the problem, friend?'
'Miphon says 'And is that all he says? The sun says the same, so it's hardly original.'
T haven't yet told you what he says!' said Blackwood, missing the joke entirely.
'You're worried, friend. Why?'
'Miphon says you've got men on call, armed for combat.'
'And so I have,' said Hearst, turning suddenly serious. 'And, if you really must know, I've been checking the kitchen for poisoners.'
'What are you planning?'
T,' said Hearst, with energy, 'Am planning to stay alive. As we all have cause to know, that's hardly the easiest of enterprises.'
'Do you suspect Farfalla of something?'
'I suspect her of many things,' said Hearst. 'Of having two breasts, two hips, and heat between her thighs. Nay, I have proof positive of certain – but no, as a gentleman I must stay my tongue, even if I must not necessarily stay my stallion.'
'You seem,' said Blackwood slowly, 'to be drunk.'
'That's what they said to the dog-sodomist after the blacksmith hit him with a sledgehammer,' said Hearst. 'No,
