too scrambled to do him much good.
The king waved to Pterocles. “Any sign the Banished One is trying to feed strength into this fellow again?”
“Let me check,” the wizard answered. What followed wasn’t exactly a spell. It seemed more as though Pterocles were listening intently than anything else. After a bit, he shook his head. “No, Your Majesty. If the Banished One is doing that, I can’t tell he’s doing it, and believe me, I would be able to.”
“I have to believe you,” Grus said. He glanced toward Vasilko again. If Vsevolod’s son had any more working brains than a thrall right now, Grus would have been amazed. “I have to believe you, and I do.” He turned back to Hirundo. “Where’s Beloyuz? Prince Beloyuz, I ought to say?”
“He’s somewhere in Nishevatz,” the general answered. “I know he came up a ladder. What happened to him afterwards, I couldn’t tell you.”
“We’d better find him. It’s time for him to start
“I’ll take care of it.” Hirundo started shouting for soldiers. They came running. He ordered them to fan out through Nishevatz calling Beloyuz’s name. The general also made sure they knew what the Chernagor nobleman looked like. Turning to Grus, he said, “For all we know, every fifth man in Nishevatz is named Beloyuz. We don’t want a crowd of them; we want one in particular.”
“True,” Grus said. There weren’t a whole flock of Avornans who bore his name, but he was sure there were some. The same could easily hold true for the Chernagor.
Escorted by one of Hirundo’s soldiers, Beloyuz strode into the square by the citadel about half an hour later. The new Prince of Nishevatz’s face was as soot-streaked as anyone else’s. But the tracks of Beloyuz’s tears cut cleanly through the filth. “My poor city!” he cried to Grus. “Did you have to do this to take it?”
“It’s war, Your Highness,” Grus said. “Haven’t you ever seen a sack before? It could have been a lot worse, believe me.”
Beloyuz didn’t answer, not directly. Instead, he threw his arms wide and wailed, “But this is Nishevatz!”
Grus put an arm around his shoulder. “It’s the way I’d feel if someone sacked the city of Avornis. But you can set this to rights. Believe me, you can. Most of the city is still standing, and most of the people are still breathing. In five years or so, no one who comes here a stranger will have any idea what Nishevatz went through.”
“Easy enough for you to say,” Beloyuz retorted, as Grus had to Hirundo. “You are not the one who will have to rebuild this city.”
“No, not this city,” Grus replied. “But what do you think I’ll be doing down in southern Avornis? The Menteshe have sacked a lot of towns there, and what they’ve done to the farmlands makes the way we behaved here look like a kiss on the cheek. You’re not the only one with worries like this, Your Highness.”
Beloyuz grunted. He cared nothing for cities in southern Avornis. In that, he was much like the late, not particularly lamented (at least by Grus) Prince Vsevolod. He said, “And what of Durdevatz and Ravno? When they see how weak we are, they will want to steal our lands.”
“Well, do you want me to leave an Avornan garrison behind?” Grus asked. Beloyuz quickly shook his head. “I didn’t think so,” Grus told him. “If I did leave one, people would say I wanted to steal your lands, and I don’t.”
“Why did I let you talk me into being prince?” Beloyuz said.
“Someone has to. Who would be better? Vsevolod’s dead.” Grus wasn’t at all convinced Vsevolod had been better, but passed over that in silence. He pointed to Vasilko instead. “Him?” Beloyuz shook his head again. “Do you have anyone else in mind?” Grus asked. Another headshake from the Chernagor. Grus spread his hands. “Well, then, Your Highness—welcome to the job.”
“I’ll try.” Beloyuz very visibly gathered himself. He might have been taking the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Yes, I’ll try.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
King Lanius was gnawing the meat off a goose drumstick when he almost choked. “Are you all right?” Sosia asked. “I think so,” he replied once he could speak again. He tried to snap his fingers in annoyance, but they were too greasy. Muttering, he wiped his hands on a napkin—he did remember not to use the tablecloth, which would have been the style in his grandfather’s day, or his own clothes, which would have been the style in his grandfather’s grandfather’s day. He sipped from his wine cup—his voice needed more lubricating even if his 6ngers didn’t. “The only problem is, I’m an idiot.”
“Oh.” Sosia eyed him. “Well, I could have told you that.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Lanius gave her a seated bow. He waited. Nothing more happened. He muttered again, then broke down and said, “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m an idiot?”
His wife shrugged. “I hadn’t intended to. But all right—how were you an idiot this time?” Her tone said she knew how he’d been an idiot before, and with which serving girls.
“It’s not like that.” Lanius hid his own smile. Sosia still hadn’t found out about Flammea.
“In that case, maybe I really am interested,” Sosia said.
“Thank you,” Lanius repeated. By the elegant way she inclined her head, her family might have been royal much longer than his. Now he did smile. That struck him funny. Sosia laughed at him. In a couple of heartbeats, he was laughing, too.
“Tell me,” the queen said.
“Do you remember the old parchments the envoy from Durdevatz brought me as a gift when he came down here last summer?”
Sosia shrugged again. “I didn’t, not until you reminded me. Playing around with those old things is your sport, not mine.” Quickly, she added, “But its a better sport than playing around with young things, by the gods.” Lanius made a face at her; he would have guessed she’d say that. She made one right back at him. “What about these precious parchments, then?”
“They may
“Oh.” Sosia thought that over, then shrugged. “Well, you’ve had reasons for being one that I’ve liked less, I will say.”
“Yes, I thought you would.” Lanius made another face at her. She laughed again, so she wasn’t too peeved. Sure enough, she hadn’t found out about Flammea.
Lanius almost charged away from the supper table to look at the documents from Durdevatz. He was halfway out of his seat before he realized that would be rude. Besides, the light was beginning to fail, and trying to read faded ink by lamplight was a lot less enjoyable than, say, trying to seduce a maidservant. Tomorrow morning would do.
When the morning came, he found himself busy with moncats and monkeys and a squabble between two nobles down in the south. He forgot the parchments again, at least until noon. Then he went into the archives to look at them. He was sure he remembered where they were, and he was usually good about such things. Not this time. He confidently went to where he thought he’d put the gift from Durdevatz, only to find the parchments weren’t there. Some of the things he said then would have made a guardsman blush, or more likely blanch.
Cursing didn’t help in any real way, even if it did make him feel better. Once he stopped filling the air with sparks, he had to go poking around if he wanted to find the missing parchments. They were bound to be somewhere in the archives. No one would have stolen them. He was sure of that. He was the only person in the city of Avornis who thought they were worth anything.
If they weren’t where he thought he’d put them, where were they likely to be? He looked around the hall, trying to think back more than a year. He’d come in, he’d had the parchments in his hand… and what had he done with them?
