“I’m comfortable where I am, dear brother,” Elara said calmly, “I don’t even know what you might mean by home, right now.”

  “Why, Bures, of course, the only home you’ve ever known!” The prince pursed his lips sorrowfully. “You don’t think we’ve come to take you away, do you?”

  “I think you’ve come to depose my father and put me on the throne as a puppet. I want no part of it.”

  The prince winced graciously. Anton wasn’t sure how; it was like an actor’s performance. “I hate to admit it, but matters are still unsettled. Strange as it may seem, Grandmother might not get to decide how things turn out. So I cannot rule out your scenario. Indeed, it is one that would find great favour with Grandmother. However…”

  He looked carefully at Elara. “Do you not find the position of Queen to your liking?”

  “Not if it comes with the deaths of all my family,” Elara snapped.

  Prince Mazir shrugged. “It was not our people who decided to start killing your family. I would suggest directing your complaints closer to home.”

  “Why don’t we move this conversation inside?” Suliel put in. “The docks are hardly the place for diplomatic discussions.”

  The prince looked like he was going to respond, but Samira bint Kareth spoke first.

  “On the contrary,” she said in a voice that had a feminine pitch, but was rougher than a lady’s voice should be. “This is the perfect place to cut through the excess verbiage that you take with you wherever you go.”

  “I—” the prince started, but she spoke over him.

  “We want the princess,” she stated. “We don’t want anything else. So why don’t we just—”

  Everything seemed to happen at once. Samira lunged forward, faster than Anton could intercept. A shot rang out, and everyone froze, startled by the spray of blood.

  It was coming from Samira’s hand, outstretched towards Elara. Elara shied back, only now reacting. Anton, faster moving but with further to go, belatedly pushed himself in front of the Lioness of Tiait.

  She’s not that much faster than me, he thought. It must be a Trait. So how could…

  It must have been Last Word, he realised. The Trait that let Aris seize the initiative in any situation.

  Samira was staring at her injured hand, more in shock than pain, Anton judged.

  “How…” was all she managed to say. Anton had no intention of enlightening her.

  “Back off or lose the hand entirely,” he growled.

  If Anton had required any proof that the woman was Tier Four, the fact that she still had her hand was all he would need. Anyone else lucky enough to have Aris target a limb, rather than a vital spot, would have seen the hand explode into gore. As it was, she still had the hand and might even regain the use of it. Anton could already see the blood loss starting to slow.

  Shocked or not, she had the presence of mind to respond to Anton’s threat. Reaching for her shortsword with her off hand was awkward, but she managed it. Anton was about to trigger Quick Strike when the prince interrupted.

  “Samira!” he barked. “Stand down!”

  Grimacing, the woman took a step back and released her grip on the sword hilt. “But he’s—”

  “It doesn’t matter! What have I told you about taking matters into your own hands?”

  If the prince was amused by his own pun, he didn’t show it. His face was a mask of displeasure as he bowed to Anton for the first time.

  “My lord, I can only apologise for my subordinate’s reckless and intemperate actions.”

  “Do you,” Anton said grimly, mainly to give Suliel enough time to get up to speed.

  “I do. I can only assure you that this… action… was not at all a part of our plans, but entirely on the initiative of this fool. She will be disciplined, given a punishment far worse than the one you have seen fit to dispense.”

  “It would have worked if he didn’t have some sort of trick—”

  “Silence!” Mazir thundered.

  “I want her gone,” Anton demanded. “Not just back to the ship, send her back to the fleet. I don’t want her within a hundred feet of solid ground.”

  Al-Kadir had managed about fifty feet with a running jump, so one hundred should be safe, he reasoned.

  “It shall be so,” Mazir promised. He glared at the sullen guard. “Get back to the ship and tell the captain to switch!”

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  Samira glared back at him, but obeyed, jogging back to the ship with an easy lope. A few moments later, the crew of the ship started throwing off the ropes that tied them to the dock.

  “Loath as I am to proceed without a bodyguard, I must concede that Samira’s actions have destroyed any claim I might have to one,” Mazir said. “Can I hope that we might proceed with the diplomatic discussions in your elegant abode?”

  Anton looked at Suliel, who had regained her composure.

  “Yes,” she said. “Let us repair to the castle. We can start with a conversation about how your Empire is going to compensate us for this outrage.”

  Mazir smiled thinly and bowed. “Graciously spoken, noble lady. Your proposal is gratefully accepted.”

  “I must say, you’re being very gracious about this whole matter, Lord Anton. If our positions were reversed and you had offered such insult on the shores of one of our cities, I would have had no choice but to order you flogged.”

  Anton smiled. “I’m not sure if that’s a subtle threat to have me flogged someday or a concealed thank you for not having you flogged.”

  “The latter, I assure you.”

  Suliel poured some more wine. “Aside from my husband’s discomfort with flogging diplomatic representatives, the fact that you sit here, with a fleet at our doorstop, might explain some of our forbearance.”

  “Ah, true. I do wish I could take a fleet with me everywhere I went. It would help with so many small matters.”

  Anton snorted at the image. “I’m sure it would. And what small matters is this fleet here to help you with?”

  The prince looked deep into his wine cup for answers. “Help—such a useful word. The fleet is here to help—us—find a satisfactory answer to the question that your kingdom has become.”

  “Who, exactly, is us in this case?” Suliel inquired archly. “The people sitting here?”

  “It could be, if you were willing,” the prince said carefully. “Us starts with Grandmother as all things do. It passes through me, as her representative, and it includes all the Empire and the fleet sitting on your doorstep. A fine and grand thing, us. I had thought you a part of it, dear sister, but you don’t appear to want to be included.”

  “Does it include my family?” Elara asked bitterly

  “Ah, yes. Your family. Well, we would prefer that it did, but much like you, they don’t seem inclined to cooperate.”

  “Don’t they.” Elara stared into her own cup of wine.

  “Mmn. We made a formal offer to your father, you know.”

  Elara looked up sharply. “You did?”

  “Yes, it was just after we were forced to report that you had… fled our embassy. The hope was that it would concentrate your father’s attention on the important matters before him. Instead, he has delayed answering and chosen to focus on the… loose ends.”

  “What was the offer?”

  “I think you’re familiar with the general details. He stays on as Provincial Governor, with the rank of Duke. A one-step downgrade for all the nobles that he brings with him. Your dear Baron, here, would become a mere Esquire, but the possibility exists for advancement, of course, depending on how many nobles choose a more… adversarial path.”

  “I wouldn’t be a princess anymore,” Elara said wryly.

  “You would remain an Imperial Princess, of course, and would actually outrank your father.”

  “And my father declined?”

  “He has delayed answering,” Mazir said. “We think he is waiting to see how the rebellion goes. If his forces are defeated, he might be more receptive to the idea.”

  Elara glanced at Anton and Aris. “We heard that the first battle had started, but not the result.”

  “We’re still waiting on news as well. Our methods of sending word might be faster, but they have further to go.”

  “Have you made an offer to my Aunt as well?”

  Mazir smiled depreciatingly. “We haven’t managed to contact her, but if you fine folks have a communications channel, we’d be happy to enter negotiations.”

  “You don’t care at all that my family is killing each other, do you?”

  “We care, in fact, we’d greatly prefer it if you stopped. We just don’t see that we have the right to stop it.”

  “Did you know—” Elara stopped, started again. “Did you know who ordered Amastan’s death?”

  Mazir narrowed his eyes. “Know would be… too strong a word. We have suspected, for some time now, that the King was behind it.”

  “Then why were you willing to deal with him?” Elara shouted.

  “Dear sister,” Mazir said. He moved to half-kneel in front of Elara’s chair and took her hands. She made as if to pull them away, but aborted the action listlessly.

  “We are far away from the power and the glory of the Imperial Throne,” Mazir said gently. “We cannot—for the most part—act with Grandmother’s authority. We have to smile and nod and come to agreements.”

  “But he killed your brother,” Elara said weakly.

  “Perhaps he did. You are not even certain now, are you? But let me assure you, dear sister. Once the deal is in place, it won’t matter if the governor is you, your Aunt or your father. Once the Imperial institutions are in place, once the barracks are garrisoned with Imperial troops… Then we will have the opportunity to determine the truth.”

  “You’d go back on your deal?”

  “Of course not. But the post of Imperial governor is no protection from the law. Not when the crime is killing a prince.”

  Elara stared at the prince with what must be a bundle of mixed emotions. Anton spared a glance for Kelsey, who had been unusually quiet. She was looking at Suliel, which suggested they were passing messages through their link.

  A diffident knock came from the door, giving Anton an excuse to remove himself from the room. He didn’t really know how to deal with a princess who was about to cry.

  Eshara, the guard who had knocked, tried to speak to him, but he silenced her with a gesture and moved further down the corridor, leaving the door closed behind him.

  “What is it?” he finally said.

  “We’ve gotten another messenger,” Eshara said. She handed Anton a sealed missive. “Word from the battle has arrived.”

  Anton stared at the parchment.

  “You’ve already heard what happened,” he said. “News like that isn’t going to stay secret.”

  “Aye, my lord, but it is hardly my place to say,” Eshara mumbled diffidently. “If it were gossip at a feast, it would be one thing, but the official word is in your hand.”

  “I can see by your face the news isn’t bad,” Anton said. He briefly checked the seal.

  Seal of Lord Kinkin Brankil, Object, Excellent Quality, Tier 1

  He had no idea if an inspection could be faked, but it seemed genuine. He broke the seal and read the contents.

  Now what do I do?

  He had a room full of people waiting for this news. Some of them were friends, while one of them was at least an adversary. Keeping it from Mazir didn’t seem useful. He probably had other methods of learning the news, if only stepping out into the courtyard. And bringing it now might help bring matters in there to a conclusion.

  Nodding to himself, Anton stepped inside again. Elara was still emotional, Mazir was still comforting her.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Anton said. “But we just had word. Queen Syrelle Kalond has routed the King’s troops. Prince Driecht was reported wounded, but escaped.”