When he’d been his own man, back before King Simeon had died, there had been days spent in his library, immersed in a translation, his mind utterly focused. He would forget to eat. He would forget to rest. Everything in him would come to a single point, a perfect kind of clarity. And when, as inevitably happened, something broke the trance, he would discover that he was hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and in the ragged edge of pissing himself. And even when all his bodily needs had been satisfied, he would still feel displaced, still reaching for that next word or phrase, the nuance that best captured what he thought the original author had intended. Everything around him— walls, chairs, people— could seem unreal.
The Kingspire, and in truth all of Camnipol, felt odd and unstructured. Out of joint. His mind and memory were aimed behind him, at a dusty, stinking ruin. Days in darkness with nothing to do but play simple puzzle games by the light of a candle and talk to a part-Cinnae banker. Cithrin bel Sarcour. Part of him was still there, with her, in that darkness. All the rest was distraction.
Geder knew he was the most powerful man in Camnipol, in Antea, quite possibly in the world. He could command the death of kings. The men who had mocked him once lived in fear of him now. It was everything he’d wanted. Everything he’d hoped for. Only now, he found, he wanted more. He wanted to wake in the morning and dress himself. He wanted to sit in his library and read until he slept. He wanted to sit and talk with Aster, or with Cithrin. He wanted to feel her body against his again.
And why not? Why couldn’t he have these things? And more than that, why
The chief valet was an older man with powder-pale skin and a fringe of hair around an ages-peckled pate. He answered to Geder’s summons immediately, bowing his way across the chamber.
“You called for me, Lord Regent?” he said.
Geder felt the unease in his belly and tried to put it aside.
“I don’t… I’ve decided I don’t want to be dressed anymore. I don’t need people to put my clothes on me or bathe me or trim my toenails. I’ve done all of that myself for years, and I managed.”
“The dignity of the regency, my lord, like the dignity of a king, is not—”
“I didn’t call you here to be lectured,” Geder said. “You’re here so that I could tell you something. I don’t want people to come dress me in the morning. Bring the clothes, draw the bath, and get out. Do you understand that? I want my privacy, and I’ll take it.”
“Yes, Lord Regent,” the older man said, his lips pressed together in disappointment and disapproval. “As you see fit.”
“Is this a problem?”
The man practically vibrated, conflicting impulses warring behind pale and watery eyes.
“Tradition, Lord Palliako, and the dignity of the throne argue against a man of your stature and position acting as his own servant. It diminishes—”
“Strip,” Geder said.
“My lord?”
“Your clothes. Take them off.”
“I don’t—”
Geder rose up, gesturing at the impassive faces of his personal guard.
“I have men with swords at my command. I am the regent of Antea. I sit the Severed Throne. When I tell you to do something, I’m not opening a debate. Take off your clothes.”
Trembling, his cheeks burning scarlet, the old man undid his robes. His undershirt was a pale yellow silk. His under-garments showed a spot of blood at the flank where the old man had a small round scab, a blemish that would not heal. His pubic hair was the yellow of white cheese and his belly sagged. Geder stood up. There was neither disappointment nor disapproval in the man’s face now.
“Why my good sir,” Geder said. “What ever is the matter? You don’t seem to enjoy this.”
The servant didn’t speak.
“Do you?”
“Lord?”
“Do you enjoy this?”
“I do not, my lord.”
Geder walked up, putting his face inches from the old man’s. With each word he spoke, the servant winced.
“Neither. Do. I.”
Geder turned on his heel, walking out of the room. Behind him, he heard his personal guard following and the soft sounds of the servant picking up his fallen clothes. And that simply, it was done. The ritual morning humiliations were over, and no one was going to laugh about it. Now the relief that killing King Lechan hadn’t provided flowed into him. Odd how the important things in life could be the smallest ones. He considered whether to clear his schedule, take all the audiences slated for the day, and set them to the winds. He could take his books to a comfortable place and have food and drink brought to him. Now that he’d done some— one—small thing genuinely for himself, anything seemed possible.
But no. Not yet. All of that could come on another day.
The banker looked perfectly at home in the grandeur of the meeting chamber. Canl Daskellin sat at his side, the pair of them smiling and joking as if they hadn’t seen the king of Asterilhold die that morning. Paerin Clark wore modest clothes of simple cut that looked understated rather than plain. Basrahip sat at the foot of the table, his genial smile the same as ever. Geder looked for Cithrin, but she wasn’t there. He tried to keep the disappointment from showing.
“My Lord Regent,” Daskellin said as all but Basrahip rose. “Thank you for making time.”
“Pleased to do it,” Geder said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Cithrin speaks highly of you, even behind your back.”
“I’m gratified to hear it,” Paerin Clark said. “She sends her regrets, my lord. We suffered certain losses in the trouble, and Magistra Cithrin’s particular attention was needed to address some of them. I’m sure she would have come if circumstances had been different.”
Geder glanced at Basrahip, who nodded. A twist of anxiety Geder hadn’t known he was carrying relaxed. He was glad she wasn’t avoiding him. And he hadn’t made an effort to seek her out, as full as everything had been on his arrival. There would be time. The thought of seeing her again left him feeling a little breathless.
“Tell her I’m sorry she wasn’t here,” Geder said, smiling. “And I’m very sorry that all of this happened when you were in Camnipol. Really, armed insurrection isn’t as common as it’s seemed these last couple of years.”
Paerin Clark laughed, and Daskellin followed along.
“That does bring me to the reason we came in the first place,” the banker said. “Antea is in a difficult transition. The passing of King Simeon followed by the war, and now all of this. Any one of these could shake a kingdom. All three coming as they have are certain to.”
“Yes, I’m told that the harvest’s going to be a bit thin this year,” Geder said. “But it won’t be a problem.”
“You sound very confident. That’s good. Antea will want a steady hand. In that regard, I’m here in part to —”
“Oh stop it,” Daskellin said, with a chuckle. “Clark’s here to say that his bank would want to put their toes in Camnipol. They don’t lend to the nobility. It’s policy, and likely a wise one. But they can bring in gold to lend to artisans and merchants. When I went to Northcoast, I thought we’d still be fighting a war when I got back.”
“Banks are at their best when there isn’t war,” Paerin Clark said. “Trade in peacetime is always more reliable and regular. And stabilizing.”
“Have you thought about opening a branch here?” Geder asked.
For the first time, Paerin Clark seemed at a loss.
“Yes, actually,” he said. “But the climate of court didn’t seem open to the idea.”
“I think you should,” Geder said. “Camnipol’s the center of the world. Antea’s the greatest empire there is. Seems silly that you shouldn’t be here. More trade, right?”
“You heard the part about not lending to nobles?” Daskellin said, and Geder waved the comment away.
“Lend to other people,” he said. “Then they’ll have enough money on hand that we can tax them.”
“Well, if that’s something we should consider,” the banker said, “perhaps we can talk about the challenges
