“If you say so, my lord.”
“You’ve lied to me. The last man that did that I cut his hands off. I have an offer for you. If it weren’t for my friendship with your brother, I wouldn’t offer this much. I am going to ask you the same question again. If you tell me that you are loyal to me and you are telling the truth, I will make you lord of Asinport and head of the fleet that was Asteril-hold’s. Tell me that you are loyal and lie, you will die where you stand. Or admit your disloyalty, and I will only send you into exile. You have my word on that.”
“I don’t understand,” Barriath said. “Is this some kind of trick?”
“You know my terms,” Geder said. “Now. For the last time. Are you loyal to me?”
Barriath was silent, his arms folded and his face bent in a scowl. He stretched his neck first one way and then the other. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and conversational.
“No,” he said. “You’re a small-hearted, small-minded prick and any man with a real love of Antea would want your head on a pike.”
“As I thought. You are exiled from Antea and all its holdings beginning now and lasting until your death. Any man who finds you on Antean soil may kill you and bring your head to me for what reward I see fit.”
“All right,” Barriath said. “Wasn’t as if I had much worth staying here for. We done, then, Lord Regent?”
“Captain? See him out,” Geder said. “And put him on a cart for whatever border he chooses.”
“Sir!” the guard captain said, and marched forward to lead Barriath Kalliam away forever. As the doors closed behind them, Geder allowed himself a wide smile.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
That night, Geder sat in the royal apartments talking with Aster about the issues and questions that surrounded the problem of Asterilhold. The decisions were, of course, Geder’s, but since Aster would be inheriting the aftermath of whatever mistakes he made, it only seemed right to have him at least present during the deliberations. Basrahip wandered around behind them, drinking a cup of the foul-smelling tea that he liked.
“So assuming we can find five true-hearted men in Asterilhold,” Geder said, “I think we can hold everything more or less the way it was, only unified under the Severed Throne.”
Aster nodded, paused.
“What about Osterling Fells?” he asked.
“Well,” Geder said. “I’ve been thinking about that. I’m tempted to hold it for Jorey. Wait, wait. Hear me out. We can’t just turn around and give it back. I don’t want everyone thinking that they can assault the throne and their families won’t suffer for it. But he did renounce Dawson and he meant it. It was true. Wasn’t it?”
“The words he spoke were true,” Basrahip said.
“So I imagined that once you came of age, one of the first things you could do was restore him. Make things right again. It’s symbolic.”
“It’s a thought,” Aster said.
Basrahip cleared his throat.
“Forgive me my intrusion, Lord Prince,” the priest said.
“Do you mean him or me?” Geder said. “I’m lord, he’s prince.”
“No one yet has discussed the greatest problem with this glorious conquest.”
“You mean the harvest?”
“I mean the next war,” Basrahip said. “You have won, but at a cost. Everyone knows this. The great empire has grown, but it has lost men. It has lost time. It has become richer and weaker. There are no greater incitements to war than wealth and the appearance of weakness.”
Geder looked at the map again. It wasn’t something he’d considered, but the border between Asterilhold and Northcoast was not only wide, but accessible. Difficult to guard and patrol. He tapped at the page and traced the line between Kaltfel and Carse.
“No, my lord,” Basrahip said. He still found the idea of maps very amusing, it seemed. “Your battle is on the other side of your paper.”
“What? Sarakal?”
“Sarakal, the Free Cities. Elassae,” the priest said. “The home of the Timzinae. With your armies drawn north, they will see the empty, rich fields of your south and know that there are no men to defend them. You must make a land between the lands. A way to keep your kingdom safe while its strength regrows.”
“You think so?”
“You are the chosen of the goddess,” Basrahip said. “All those who hear your name will fear justice. You must be always on your guard. Always at the ready, both in the borders of your nation and the people in your streets and the corridors of your great house.”
“I suppose,” Geder said. “I suppose that does make sense.”
“But then we have another border to protect, don’t we?” Aster said. “If you take Sarakal, then what do you do about Borja? All the histories say Elassae’s vulnerable to the Keshet. There’s always the next war.”
“No, little prince,” Basrahip said. “The goddess is returning, and her justice means an end to all wars. All cities will live in her peace. This part that you face now is the most difficult. Many will hate and despise and fear you. But you will win through. Your servants are with you.”
After they took their evening meal, Geder debated going back to his room or staying up in the library. The books called to him, as they always did, but the day had been long and eventful, and as much as he regretted the loss, he thought it better to rest. Pleasure was for men with fewer responsibilities. And the books would be there when he had done his part, and could retire to a quiet life of scholarship, naps, and—was it too much to hope?—a little family of his own. A beautiful young woman beside him in the night and still in the morning. It was a thing he could develop a fondness for.
He hadn’t understood, when he became Lord Regent, how much would be asked of him. How much would be required. It gave him, he felt, a real respect for King Simeon and all the other kings of Antea before him. Basrahip had been right. Antea would look weak and vulnerable, and it was Geder’s place now to see that the kingdom was kept safe, whatever the cost.
Alone in his bed, by the light of a single candle, he took out Cithrin’s note. He wished she’d been able to stay. That she’d seen what he was planning and arranging for Aster. She cared about Aster. He knew that. He could tell that she’d be pleased with all the things he had in mind.
He pressed paper to his mouth, breathing in through his nose in hopes of catching some slight scent that was her. All he found was ink and paper, but the thought of her was enough. He placed the letter carefully by his bed and lay back. Sleep was far from him, but it didn’t bother him. His mind was full and awake and aware.
He would bring peace to the world.
Cithrin
Cithrin and Paerin Clark had left Camnipol like thieves in the night. Much of King Tracian’s party had escaped during the fighting, and those few that hadn’t might stay on past the departure of the Medean bank. Cithrin found she didn’t particularly care. With Asterilhold open, there was no call to ride north and take ship. Paerin used the money he had to buy a light cart and a fast, reliable team of horses, and they were off. She couldn’t help but remember leaving Vanai, it seemed a lifetime ago. In a way, it had been.
The plains of Asterilhold were in ruins where Kalliam’s army had passed. Grasslands had been churned to mud. Forests had been cut to the ground. The bones of the world were exposed here. The great wound was the aftermath of a short, successful war. Cithrin could hardly imagine what a longer one might have done.
Paerin Clark passed the hours with talk of finance and coinage, and Cithrin kept the pace he set. He told stories of how the Borjan kings had minted two separate currencies, one for trade and the other for tax, and that the two had been intentionally inconvertible. A man might accrue all the wealth the market could deliver and still not pay his taxes if that was in the interest of the Regos and his council. Cithrin told him about coming to Porte Oliva nearly penniless apart from the massive hoard of wealth she was smuggling and the creation of a fashion for
