“Tempting, tempting,” murmured Tekoa. “So the obvious alternative you propose is an alliance between the Vidarr and the Jormunrekur.” He brooded. “Which means you want to take one of my daughters off my hands.”
Roper was taken aback. After a pause, he said reasonably, “The natural way to seal an alliance.”
“Well, this is all terribly equitable of you, Roper,” said Tekoa sourly. “Most equitable. You gain the Stone Throne, a powerful ally, and one of my own dear daughters. What do I inherit from this accord, besides Uvoren’s displeasure?” He spoke harshly, but Roper thought Tekoa might still be enjoying himself.
“With you at my back, my throne will surely be secured beyond doubt,” said Roper. “As my father showed, we reward those who help us.”
“Prospective gains!” Tekoa leaned back, steepling his fingers and looking at Roper. “You can’t say fairer than that. Except, of course, by offering actual gains. And naturally Uvoren has already approached me with some rather more concrete advantages than you can offer. So why choose you?”
“Because you already rejected Uvoren,” said Roper, hoping very much that this was true. The laughter exploded out of Tekoa.
“I was rather hoping you’d make me a more convincing case. Why would I reject Uvoren? He is the safer bet. A much safer bet.”
“It is a safe bet that you would get a warrior of great renown and unsurpassed self-interest,” said Roper mildly. “Better to gamble.”
“He does show very little flair for leadership,” admitted Tekoa. “I’m surprised you two don’t get on.” Roper ignored this. “So I’ve made my bed, have I? Let’s allow your prospective wife to decide.” Roper looked stunned at this. The conversation was escalating more rapidly than he had imagined. When he had seen his father discuss political matters, it had always been so subtle and so steady, to the extent that Roper had become bored. Tekoa did not seem to do subtle. “Send me Keturah!” called Tekoa to his legionary.
“I don’t know where she is, sir,” said the legionary, re-entering the room through the oak door.
Tekoa twisted in his chair and examined the legionary nastily. “Harald, I have literally no idea why you would bother me with information like that.”
Harald frowned, a slight smile on his lips. “You want me to find her?”
“That’s very perceptive of you.” Harald bowed and left. Tekoa turned back to Roper. “While we wait you can tell me how last night’s assassin came to suffer the ignominy of dying at your hand.”
Roper explained as they waited. They had moved on to Kynortas’s death by the time the legionary returned. “I was sorry about that,” said Tekoa. “And not merely because it has plunged us into an underhanded civil war. Kynortas and I did not see eye to eye, but he was a warrior through and through. He was good for this country.”
“Miss Keturah,” announced the legionary from the door, bowing as Tekoa’s daughter entered. Roper, who had been suppressing a sense of mounting anticipation, stood to look at the woman who might be his future wife.
Keturah was tall. At barely an inch shorter than Roper himself, she was every bit as tall as her mother. She also shared Skathi’s pale green eyes, though perhaps because she had inherited her father’s black hair and rather less fair skin, they appeared vivid to the point of poisonous, rather than ghostly. She was appraising Roper sceptically as she approached. Her walk bore all the confidence and easy grace of her cousin, Pryce, and her father, but with more of a swagger. Tekoa and Pryce came across as aloof. Keturah was equally poised but looked as though she was more interested in other mortals.
“There you are, my sweet,” said Tekoa, not bothering to stand and waving her to bring another chair to join them. “I have found you a victim.”
“Miss Keturah,” said Roper, taking the hand she offered him. He could feel his face warming.
“The Black Lord,” said Keturah.
Is that a hint of mockery in her voice?
“Ostensibly,” she finished.
Yes. “Please take a seat,” said Roper, offering his chair. She took it and Roper fetched another, receiving a wink and a grin from Helmec as he faced him momentarily. Roper sat on Keturah’s right, opposite Tekoa, who was looking greatly pleased.
Keturah was gazing at Roper. “Father, you wish me to marry the man who was not able to defeat the Sutherners with a full call-up?” Roper’s face burned and Tekoa blasted him with more cannon-fire. “So what do you do?” she asked him. “Why should my father secure your position for you? A line like yours can’t have produced something completely lacking in talent.”
“No more than yours could have produced an individual with normal levels of self-esteem,” said Roper, drawing a smile from Keturah.
“You’ve met my cousin?”
“Pryce? I’ve had that pleasure.”
“It’s not much of a pleasure,” said Keturah waspishly. “I suppose he runs very quickly, but he has that in common with you.” Her eyes glittered.
“Now, now, my little spider,” intervened Tekoa with evident glee. “The Jormunrekur are more fragile than we. The lad can’t be of much use to us if you shred his self-confidence. Besides, imagine your guilt if the next assassin is more competent than the last.”
“If I marry your daughter, I may wish that were true, Tekoa,” said Roper, inadvertently speaking the truth for the first time.
Father and daughter beamed at each other. It seemed the Vidarr were as happy receiving abuse as they were distributing it.
“So where does your skill lie, my lord?” Keturah pressed Roper, mocking him again with his title.
“I am a leader,” said Roper. “That’s all. That is what this country needs. And if I am ever given the opportunity, that is what I will show.”
Keturah rearranged her hair, flicking her vivid gaze at her father before returning it to Roper. “So why did you retreat from battle?”
“Because it was the right thing to do,” said
