The King's Blood

merchants not far from here that we’ve had dealings with. I’ll want to speak with them. And then another one, less reputable, who works down the side of the Division.”

“Down the side?” she said.

“Not the highest-rent part of the city,” Paerin Clark said ruefully. “Picturesque, but the foot traffic’s terrible.”

“That can’t be someone very important.”

“Not very rich,” Paerin said. “That’s not the same thing. Knowing the taste of a city’s cream isn’t the same as drinking the dregs. We want both. And you’ll be with me when I go.”

She nodded and took a mouthful of wine. It wasn’t very good, but it was strong. That was better than being good. The warmth was resting comfortably in her belly, and starting to spread out toward her shoulders and face.

“So am I with you because I’m being kept on a leash, or because I’m being trained for something?”

“Trained,” he said without a space between the words. “I spoke with Komme about this before we came. I spoke with him about you when I first got back from Porte Oliva, for that matter. We agreed that you were an investment worth making despite the risks. You have a good mind for what we do. More experience than anyone your age has a right to. And you understand how we work.”

“Which makes me your best ally or your worst enemy,” she said.

“Yes. Or possibly something else, but regardless of interest.”

Cithrin smiled.

“I will do it, you know. All this? I will do what’s called for to get it.”

“I think you will,” Paerin Clark said. “But I have been wrong before, and I won’t do a thing to keep you from falling. You’ll stand on your own strength or you’ll leave. But I’d rather you stood.”

“We understand each other,” she said.

“Good. Once we’ve done with my acquaintance on the Division, we’re both for the tailors. We’ll need better clothes than we’ve packed. Our very good friend Canl Daskellin is holding a private meal at his estate tomorrow. Several people will be there who would be very interesting to speak with.”

“You’ll tell me what to listen for before we go?”

“Of course.”

“And after the meal?”

“After the meal, we will go to the Kingspire. Lord Marshal Kalliam is having his revel, and the regent and the prince will both be there. And then, Magistra, we’ll see what’s worth seeing.”

Geder

Geder rose to his ritual humiliation. His servants powdered him, dressed him, and prepared him for the grand and glorious world. He told himself, as he did every morning, that the servants barely noticed what he looked like naked. And even if they did, he was the Lord Regent, and their opinions of him ought not matter. But always in the back of his mind, he imagined them giggling when he was safely away. And his personal guard. Those men followed him almost everywhere, but never spoke to him. Never asked anything of him or laughed at his jokes. That wasn’t the same as having no opinion of him. It was beneath the dignity of the regent to ask them, of course, but how could he keep from wondering?

The revel itself began at dawn, well before Dawson, Geder, or Aster officially arrived. The pavilion set aside for it had been draped in pale silk, and jugglers and showfighters and tables of sweets had been brought in for the children’s revel at dawn. There would be games and competitions through the morning, with prizes given to the winners wrapped in cloth the colors of House Kalliam and engraved with Dawson Kalliam’s name. Geder planned to join in at midday when the first meal came. Dawson would be there, and Lady Kalliam. And with luck Jorey and his new wife, Sabiha.

He walked through the wide halls of the Kingspire, scattering the servants and slaves by the simple fact of his presence, and he wondered what it was like for Jorey. He couldn’t really imagine him wed, even though he’d been there at the joining. To wake up every morning not to a crowd of near-strangers, but to a woman. One particular woman. To be naked before someone whom etiquette didn’t require to look away. The thought alone was enough to make his chest ache, just a bit.

And now, how would he ever know if a woman wanted him, or just the position he’d fallen into? He’d read enough about sex to understand it. There had even been diagrams in some of the books. That wasn’t the problem. It was the fear a thousand times worse than his unease with the morning’s servants that she—that unformed, universal she—would be putting up with him because he was Lord Regent. That she would pretend love or lust as carefully as the others pretended indifference. He couldn’t stand the idea.

He could order the death of kings and the destruction of kingdoms, and what he mostly felt was lonesome. Lonesome and envious that his friend had something that he couldn’t. The only one who could really understand was Aster, and Geder couldn’t talk about that kind of thing to a child. A boy he was supposed to protect and raise up to the crown. No. Impossible.

“My Lord Geder,” Basrahip said. His rockslide of a voice echoed a little.

“Morning,” Geder said. “I was just… I was just doing nothing very useful or important. Is everything all right?”

“My fellows and I have heard things that trouble me, Prince Geder.”

“Lord Regent.”

“Lord Regent. I am worried that there may be some unrest. Those who love deceit too much and fear the justice of the goddess feel her presence, and they do not repent.” Basrahip leaned closer, and his voice fell to a whisper. “You must be aware. The world looks bright and blameless, but there is danger in it.”

A cold dread tightened his shoulders. He hunched in toward the priest.

“What should we do?” Geder asked. Basrahip smiled.

“Come with me,” he said. “And let us bring your guardsmen.”

The room was an old ballroom, not used in living memory. The light was bad, and the floor was worn to splinters and blocks. Tiers of benches rose steeply up on three sides like a theater, the last bench so high it almost touched the vaulted roof. Standing along that top row were the priests of the goddess. Twenty of them at least. They had blades at their sides and crossbows in their hands. Geder heard one of his personal guard gasp. Basrahip motioned for Geder to stop, then walked to the center of the first tier of benches. He motioned Geder to come stand by his side. The personal guard arrayed themselves unobtrusively against the wall, but Geder could see their eyes shifting around the room.

Basrahip pointed to the man farthest to the left.

“You, my friend. Step forward, please.”

The guard didn’t move.

“It’s all right,” Geder said. “Do what he asks.”

The man came out to stand in the center of the room. In the gloom, he looked like a player about to deliver a speech. Geder had never really considered the guards as people before. This man looked to be in his fourth decade, with a pale scar that ran along his jaw on the left. Geder wondered what his name was.

“Have you conspired to harm Lord Geder?” Basrahip asked.

“No,” the guardsman said in a sharp voice.

Basrahip nodded. “Please step back, my friend. You beside him, step forward.”

One by one, the priest called each of the guards forward and asked the same question. At the end, he clapped Geder on the shoulder and grinned.

“These men can be trusted,” the priest said. “Keep them close. And I will do all I can to be close by at all times. Until we find the extent of the threat against you, you must be wary and clever.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” Geder said, but he wasn’t.

“It will,” Basrahip said. “But there will be some times of danger also. Your Righteous Servant will protect you.”

It was less comforting than it should have been. He went to the revel as he had planned, but with a growing