Cassius remained hopeful that fighting could be avoided. He didn’t know what Marcellus thought.

They rode on, and made camp a half-day’s ride from the Caeli. The next morning, they took a thousand man and rode forward, under a parley flag. The Caeli had moved in the night, and it took less than an hour to reach them. Cirun Caelus met them on a grassy hill that surveyed the Caelus forces on one side, and, in the distance, the Sylvani.

“Cousin,” he said. He was a big, broad man, with a deep voice. Unlike his father, he was not fond of Monsilys. Also unlike his father, he was unused to commanding forces. The Highvalley was rich, fertile farming land, particularly suited to vegetables and winter fruits, and Cirun Caelus was a farmer.

“Lord Cirun,” said Marcellus, grimacing.

“And Lord Cassius, I think,” said Cirun. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” His voice held no warmth, “and how brave of you to march into the Highvalley with fifteen thousand men. One would almost think it was I who had murdered your father.”

Cassius looked at Marcellus, who shifted his weight in his saddle and frowned.

“Lord Cirun, I have come to prevent you from doing something rash. Lay down your weapons and disband your affinity, and nothing more will be said.”

“And murderers will go unpunished?”

Cassius waited, but still Marcellus didn’t speak. “Your father’s death was not at the hand of the Empress, or at the wishes of gens Sylvana. The man who did it was at the beck of another master. He was slaughtered by your father’s loyal guards, but we found the mark on his body. He was a Papirian.”

Narrowing his eyes, Cirun looked at Marcellus, who sighed and said, “Perhaps, Lord Cassius, my cousin and I could speak in private.”

Running his hand through his hair, Cassius gestured, and the men withdraw out of earshot, leaving the two men on the hill, silhouetted in the midmorning sun.

A few minutes later, Marcellus turned his horse and rode towards them, while Cirun rode back towards his men. At Cassius’ questioning look, Marcellus said, “I do not like being used against my family, Lord Cassius.”

“Will he stand down?” said Cassius. Later, he thought he might mourn their friendship.

“I told him that I believed the Papirians had been involved, and that my wife and unborn child were in Monsilys in your family’s hands. I said I didn’t think gens Mereia would come to his aid. He listened to me, and afterwards thanked me and hoped my wife gave me a healthy child. Then he rode back to his men.”

“Lady Caia is pregnant again?” said Cassius awkwardly. “I’m sorry; I didn’t realise.”

Marcellus gave him a humourless half-smile.

Cassius was shaken awake by his servant in the early hours of the following morning. They had withdrawn to where the bulk of the troops were camped and pitched their tents.

“Commander,” said the servant, “the scouts report that the Caeli are on the move.”

“Toward us or away from us?” said Cassius, rubbing his eyes and rolling off his camp bed.

“Toward us,” said the servant.

“Damn.” Now wide awake, Cassius dressed quickly and his servant buckled on his armour and sword and settled the fur-trimmed cloak over his shoulders. Clanking, Cassius stomped out of the tent and met his commanders.

“How is the terrain?” he said.

One of the centurions said, “They are moving off the high ground to engage us.”

Cassius nodded. “Form ranks, then. Legionaries at the front and centre; Sylvani behind and to either side. Find any of our men who has a bow and put them on the flanks behind a couple of lines of legionaries. Bring me my horse, and find Lord Marcellus Mereius.”

Men jogged away to execute his commands.

Half an hour later, the two armies sized each other up. Cassius turned to find Marcellus beside him. “He isn’t seriously going to fight, is he?”

Marcellus shrugged. “He is grieving for his father and wants to punish someone for his death. And I suppose he would say that although you have the superior number, his men are fighting for something they believe in.”

“Then his men are going to die for something they believe in,” said Cassius grimly.

“A few of yours will die as well,” said Marcellus, and Cassius frowned at him. He rode out in front of the army, and a mounted figure detached from the hoard opposite and rode forward.

“Lord Cirun,” said Cassius, “you should reconsider your course of action.”

Cirun pulled his horse around, his armour chiming. “You tell me the Papirians are involved. My cousin tells me the Papirians are involved, and that you have his family. I ask him why in the world would a Papirian murder my father? He cannot answer. Can you, Lord Cassius Sylvanus?”

“I don’t know. They have long been enemies of Jovan and the Empress. Perhaps they foresaw the pass in which we find ourselves now.”

“I have thought about it, and I think in these cases the simplest explanation must be adhered to. Your despicable kinfolk murdered my father out of an old grudge, and I am going to exact retribution.” There were tears running down Lord Cirun’s face, but they in no way diminished his menace. “I want you to know, Lord Cassius, that I am going to try and kill you. I am going to direct my archers against your position, and set my infantry against you. Gens Sylvana will lose a scion today.”

Cassius bowed his head. “So be it, Lord Cirun,” he said, and rode away, the space between his shoulder blades itching.

Seeing him shake his head, the centurions started to bring the legion forward, shields in front of them, forming a wall. At the same time, the officers commanding the Sylvani ordered the bowmen into position. Behind him, Cassius could hear Cirun making the same preparations. He reached the line and rode through it, before turning his horse when he was out of arrow range. He studied the backs of his men’s heads, the officers and centurions turned towards him expectantly. A waiting silence settled over the plateau. Taking a deep breath, Cassius raised his hand and lowered it. The centurions shouted, and the legionaries moved forward.

Then the arrows began to fly.

Cassius lay awake in his tent listening to the sounds of the camp. His arm still ached with the impact of sword against sword, and he felt filthy and covered in blood, despite having washed as best he could with a basin and cloth. His servant slept on a pallet diagonally opposite him; he could hear the man’s deep, whistling breaths.

He supposed they had carried the day, but they hadn’t crushed the Caeli. Two thousand dead or wounded on their side. He estimated Cirun Caelus had lost three thousand or more, but the rest had fought on until exhaustion and the fading light had forced them to disengage.

As he had staggered from the battlefield, head aching, Cassius had thought nothing could keep him from sleep, but here he was, lying awake. He thought of his poor horse, which had taken an arrow in the haunch. The beast was still alive, but if it couldn’t walk by the time they had to leave, it would be killed. He thought of walking through the battlefield, surrounded by a tight formation of Sylvani, while Cirun’s forces broke against the legionary shields. He fancied he could hear the groans and shouts from the surgeons’ tents, even though they were on the other side of the camp.

He forced his mind onto other paths. He thought of Llewellyn, and a smile found its way onto his face. He hoped Llewellyn was well, and had found his family in Cambria. Then he thought of Laurentio, the shopkeeper’s son turned soldier who had been the first man to share Cassius’ bed, and who had died on the field at Jeunell. Then he thought of the handsome young cousin who had been leading a company of Sylvani, and who Cassius had last seen being carried from the field. His face had had the pallor of death.

He rustled around in his blankets until he had turned over and curled against the canvas wall of the tent.

They would fight again tomorrow.

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“What?” said Marcellus.

“He has the Papirian mark,” said Cassius, “look.”

Marcellus frowned. “That’s just some old scar, Cassius.”

“I suppose this means Magnus didn’t catch wind that we caught Lady Ignatia,” said Cassius to himself.

“Who’s Magnus? Do you mean Lady Ignatia Ventus? I heard she died at Cordiserrat.”

Cassius nodded. “Marc, I know you believe my family had something to do with your uncle’s death, but I swear we didn’t. If this man is indeed a scion of gens Sylvana, it was under the orders of a different master that he did this deed.”

Marcellus looked away and didn’t reply.

“Don’t you believe me?”

“My uncle is dead at the hands of a Sylvanus. Blaming the Papirians is rather like blaming the bogeyman.”

Cassius sighed. “I hope to convince you otherwise. But in the meantime, I have to go.”

As he was leaving, Marcellus’ voice stopped him. “Cassius,” he said. “Cirun is going to raise arms against your family when he hears of this. There will be rebellion. You should be ready.”

Nodding, Cassius turned. “Please come back with me to Monsilys. There is someone I would like you to meet, if I can arrange it.”

All things considered, Lady Ignatia’s cell was surprisingly pleasant. It was up high in the Keep, which had once been the defender of Monsilys, but now loomed over the waterfront. The Keep housed many important prisoners, from rebellious aura to defrocked priestesses. Cassius suspected that Adrienne kept a cell in perpetual readiness for Lady Domina of Skya, should she ever venture back to Jovan.

Ignatia was sitting at a plain wooden desk, writing. A year and a half’s captivity hadn’t told on her beauty; her plain grey gown made her radiant, and her hair was tied back with a ribbon and tumbled over her shoulder as if her maid had arranged it that way.

“Lord Cassius,” she said, turning around. “What a surprise.”

“Lady Ignatia,” Cassius replied, keeping a cautious distance. “You are well?”

She opened her hands. “As you see me.”

“This is my friend Lord Marcellus Mereius. Marc, this is Lady Ignatia Ventus.”

Marcellus stared. “I heard you were dead. Cassius, weren’t you there when she died?”

“Yes, I was,” said Cassius grimly.

Ignatia laughed. “It was all a clever plot of mine, Lord Marcellus. You see, I’m a Papirian. Well,” she looked up at the ceiling, “I was a Papirian. I ran away, and they have been hunting me ever since. So I made an arrangement to pretend to have died, and claimed the Empress’ protection in return for becoming her resident authority on the Papirian menace. Is that about right, Lord Cassius?”

Biting his lower lip to keep from either smiling or grimacing, Cassius ground out, “More or less. Although I told the Empress she should just kill you and be done with it.”

“Well, that wasn’t very polite,” said Ignatia, her voice serene. “Actually, the Empress and I got on rather well. She visits me sometimes, to see how I’m going with my work.”

“Going with your work?” Cassius blinked.

“Oh yes, I’m writing a definitive history of Jovan under gens Sylvana,” said Ignatia airily. “The Empress is naturally interested in my progress.”

“I see,” said Cassius. “I can’t wait to tell Valentin. At any rate, since you are our resident authority on the Papirian menace, would you mind telling Lord Marcellus about the Papirian mark?”

Ignatia stood up. “I’ll do one better, shall I?” she said, and pulled aside her bodice to reveal her shoulder. “There it is.”

“Blessed few,” said Marcellus, stepping forward.

He examined the scars while Ignatia spoke over his head to Cassius: “Caught one, have you?”

“Yes, a man claiming to be Betigan Sylvanus has killed Lord Daron, head of gens Caela. I found the mark on his shoulder.”

“Oh my,” said Ignatia. When Marcellus stepped back, she released her bodice and straightened her clothes. “Well, I am not familiar with Betigan Sylvanus, but the Papirians would target minor branches of your family. They’ve probably been holding him in reserve for some time. Did he have many marks?”

“More than you,” said Cassius. “He must have been important.”

“Not necessarily.” Ignatia sat down. “If you had a fish, puffed up on its own importance, that you wanted to catch, how would you bait the hook?”

“You mean they mangled his shoulder to pander to his ego and then sent him on a suicide mission?”

Raising and lowering one shoulder, Ignatia said, “I imagine Valentin would recognise a kindred spirit in Magnus.” She saw Cassius flinch and said, a slow and malicious smile breaking across her face, “Oh, I forgot. Valentin and Magnus are old friends, aren’t they?”

“Thank you for your help, Ignatia,” said Cassius tightly. “Marc, it’s time to go.”

“It has been enlightening to meet you, Lady Ignatia,” said Marcellus.

Ignatia flicked them both an amused look and returned to her papers as they shut the door behind them.

“All right, I believe you about the Papirian mark,” said Marcellus as they returned to the palace. “Is that why you took me to see her?”

Cassius bit his lip, then said, “When I tell the Empress what I have told you, she is going to send two forces. She is going to send a legionary company or two to chase Papirius around the spinal mountains, and she is going to summon the Sylvana affinity to march to Skydown and put down the rebellion Cirun Caelus is planning. I assume I will lead the latter force, and I want you to come with me.”

Marcellus frowned. “You want me to fight against my cousin?”

“I want you to talk sense into your cousin before the fighting starts. Lord Cirun will be counting on the affinity of gens Mereia, and I need you to convince him that the Sylvani are not behind this murder, and that Lady Isadora Mereius will not come to his aid if he takes up arms.”

“How do you know?”

Cassius shrugged. “I don’t, but neither will Lord Cirun. Marcellus, I am trying to save your cousin from a traitor’s death.”

“If…” Marcellus trailed off. “Nevermind. Let me think about it.”

“No,” said Cassius. “You are not leaving the palace until this is done. At the moment, we have the advantage over gens Caela and gens Mereia, but if you leave, and tell your wife what I have told you, she will tell her mother, and we may indeed have a war between Sylvana and Mereia.”

Narrowing his eyes, Marcellus studied Cassius in silence. “I do not like what the capital has done to you, Commander.”

Cassius shrugged and rang for a guard. “Write Lady Caia a letter telling her you are convinced that this was a Papirian plot and that the Empress wished no harm to Lord Daron, and that you are coming with me to try and prevent any more Caela deaths.” When an Imperial Guard opened the door, he said, “Take Lord Marcellus to a guest room and give him pen and paper. When he has written a letter to his wife, bring it to me. He is to be guarded at all times, and must not leave the palace.”

“Yes, Commander,” said the guard.

“I am sorry, old friend,” said Cassius as Marcellus was escorted out. He didn’t look back.

Had the capital changed him? Cassius crossed his arms and leaned his weight on his right leg, staring absently at a fresco in the Empress’ anteroom. When he was admitted, he told her what he had found and what he had done.

Adrienne’s mouth was tight as she nodded. She gestured to Cesare and said, “Send the writs out to the nearer properties in Castlewood. I want two legions… no, one legion to march south immediately, and ten thousand of our men equipped and ready to march to Skydown by the end of the week. And send me Captain Gennaro.”

“At once, Empress,” said Cesare, and hurried away.

“Do you think that is sufficient, uncle?” said Adrienne, leaning forward and rubbing at the small of her back. “I don’t want to rely on the legionaries as their loyalty may be split.”

“Cirun will not have the chance to summon all twenty thousand men of his affinity in time to meet your forces,” said Cassius.

“That is my hope,” said Adrienne, sighing. She squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced.

“Are you all right, Empress?” said Cassius.

“Just tired,” said Adrienne. “My poor body does not seem inclined to ever recover from that poisoning in Caith’il Deran.”

“Perhaps you should try and get more sleep,” said Cassius solicitously, and stop spending your evenings with the man you cannot have.

“I get sufficient sleep, thank you, Lord Cassius,” said Adrienne. “You will lead our affinity?”

“Of course, Empress.” Cassius bowed.

“I suppose so,” said Cassius, allowing himself to be towed into an empty drawing room.

“I won’t keep you long, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going out of town for a little while.” Valentin shut the door and went across to the window to pull the curtains open. The chairs were all under covers, but the room didn’t have the dusty, disused feeling of some of the older wings of the palace. It was opened up for major events, or when guests required a private sitting room.

“Oh?” said Cassius, resting his shoulder against the mantelpiece.

“Yes.” Valentin waved his hand and shook his head. There was a small, annoyed frown creasing his forehead. “Caspar finally spilled his guts to me.”

Startled by this mental image, Cassius said, “What?”

“He bailed me up in a corridor and confessed that he was hopelessly in love with Adrienne and he didn’t think he could live without her. He wanted my advice on whether he should break the engagement and slink back to Toqueia or marry Adelais and live out his life in wretched misery.”

“That’s not very polite of him.”

“Oh, I’m paraphrasing, of course.”

Cassius crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling. “Have he and Adrienne ever spent any time together?”

“That’s the thing. Apparently he’s been sneaking into her chamber of an evening.”

Pushing away from the wall, Cassius stared at Valentin. “What?”

Valentin nodded knowingly. “My reaction exactly. But Prince Caspar was at pains to explain to me that all they do is play cards and talk. A maid servant was on hand at all times, apparently.”

“Do you believe that?”

“They’re both so tiresome, I think I do,” said Valentin.

“You’re such a cynic, Valentin.” Cassius reached out and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, before going over to the window.

“To think that two people who can’t keep their eyes off each other and who meet each other secretly to play cards are wasting their opportunity?”

“I suppose you’ve never been so in love that you just want to sit and talk to someone, and spend time with them, because even if it’s inconsequential and trivial, it winds your lives more closely together.”

“And of course you think a chaste, doomed affair is the height of romance; you’re exactly the kind of wet blanket who would do that sort of thing.”

Cassius grunted and looked out the window across the city.

“Oh, stop brooding,” said Valentin, coming over and leaning against the sill. “Anyway, the upshot of all this is that I am feeling so nauseated by being made the auditor of such a pointless confession that I am taking Elodia to the coast for a few days to cleanse my palate. I will see you when I return.”

He waited a moment for Cassius’ response and when none was forthcoming, crossed the room to the door.

“What did you tell Prince Caspar?” said Cassius. “When he asked your advice, I mean.”

Valentin stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked back over his shoulder. “I told him he should marry Adelais, of course. My loyalty isn’t to some foreign prince’s heart; it’s to Jovan.”

“Come in,” he called, rubbing his knuckles across his eyes and sitting up. “Lord Cassius,” said Cesare, “you are needed in the throne room immediately.”

“What time is it?” said Cassius, throwing back the blankets.

“A little after dawn.”

“Ugh.” Cesare shut the door, and Cassius stumbled into clean clothes and draped himself in his cloak, pinned with the medallion of gens Sylvana. Then he pulled on his boots and made his way to the throne room, yawning.

There was a small crowd of people in the throne room. Adrienne sat on the dais, and Lady Kyria stood nearby. Cassius looked around and was startled to see Lord Marcellus Mereius and his wife Lady Caia standing in front of the throne. Marcellus looked at Cassius and nodded sombrely.

At Adrienne’s gesture, everyone filed out of the room, leaving Adrienne, Kyria and Cassius. Adrienne stepped down from the dais.

“Uncle,” she said, “we have just received some extremely distressing news. Lord Daron, head of gens Caela, has been murdered at Falona.”

“I am very sorry to hear that,” said Cassius when he was confident of his voice. Lord Daron was Marcellus’ uncle. “Is it known who committed the crime?”

“Yes, but I wish you to go to Falona and investigate. The man that the Caeli claim did it is dead. He was killed by guards after he killed Daron.”

“I see,” said Cassius.

“He is called Betigan,” said Adrienne, watching Cassius closely.

Cassius searched his memory. “Should that name be familiar to me?”

“I wondered if it would be,” said Adrienne. She frowned. “Apparently, this Betigan is Betigan Sylvanus. He’s our cousin of some sort.”

Wincing, Cassius said, “I see why you wish me to investigate.”

Adrienne nodded. “Daron was well loved by gens Caela and its affinity, and they have no fondness for us, having fought for gens Fabia in the war and been excluded from council throughout my father and grandfather’s reigns.”

“I will ride to Falona immediately,” said Cassius, bowing.

“Thank you, uncle,” said Adrienne. She looked tired.

He found the gens Caela house easily enough. It was a big old mansion fit for one of the great Jovani gentes, but showed signs of disrepair; gens Caela’s fortunes had been on the wane for the last few decades.

He was greeted by a servant and shown into a sitting room, where he waited for some time until Marcellus Mereius arrived and hurriedly said, “Hello Commander. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

Cassius frowned and hovered for a moment before he reached out, clasped Marcellus’ hand and pulled him forwards. Their chests met and Cassius wrapped one arm around Marcellus’ shoulders. Marcellus sighed and rested his chin on Cassius’ shoulder. “I am very sorry about your uncle,” said Cassius.

Marcellus stepped out of Cassius’ arms and turned away, nodding.

“Where is Cirun Caelus?”

“My cousin is in Skydown. We’ve sent a rider to him. The Empress said she would be sending you to investigate. How can I assist?”

“I would like to see Lord Daron, if you’ve no objection. And the murderer—Betigan…” he trailed off.

“Betigan Sylvanus,” Marcellus supplied with an enigmatic look at Cassius. “Yes, please follow me.”

Lord Daron was laid out on his bed wearing a white tunic, with a black cloak spread over him like a blanket. His face was waxy and still.

“How was it done?” said Cassius, leaning over the bed. The room had the strong smell of incense, but underneath it Cassius could detect the cloying smell of death. Soon, it would be overpowering.

“In the early hours of the morning, my uncle’s body servant was woken by a commotion in this room. He hurried in to find Lord Daron struggling with an assailant. As he watched, the assailant stabbed my uncle…” He paused and pinched the collar of Daron’s tunic, lifting it aside to reveal a long, deep gash between Daron’s neck and his shoulder, “here. Betigan Sylvanus fled, and Daron bled to death within a few minutes.”

“May I?” Cassius leaned close and examined the wound. It had missed the arteries of the neck, but he could easily imagine a man dying from it, particularly if the only aid to hand was a distraught body servant.

He stood back and bowed his head for a moment, then said, “Where is the murderer?”

“Follow me.”

They left Daron’s chamber and walked down a flight of stairs and down a long, unadorned hallway towards what Cassius assumed were the kitchens and servants’ quarters. Marcellus stopped at a closed wooden door and unlocked it, revealing a dusty little store room. The room was full of old, broken bits of furniture and in the middle was a table on which sat a long object wrapped in a canvas sheet. Cassius stepped into the room, glancing at Marcellus, who inclined his head. He pulled the sheet aside to reveal a mottled corpse with unruly brown hair and a nondescript, rough-hewn face.

He tried to think of whether he had ever seen Betigan Sylvanus before. The man was evidently an argenta; gens Sylvana had enough argenta branches that Cassius couldn’t count them all, let alone identify every scion. After the civil war, several devastated minor families had married into the branches of the family and taken on gens Sylvana as their own. Cassius shook his head and released the sheet. He would need to send someone to the family lands to establish where this weed sprung from.

“How did you know who this man was?”

“He was carrying papers of introduction,” said Marcellus, “from Nasarin Sylvanus to the Steward of Monsilys Castle.”

“I see,” said Cassius. “What a clumsy assassin.”

“He was successful enough,” said Marcellus tightly.

Cassius leaned over the body, pulling the sheet aside again. He was clad in a black linen shirt, which was ripped and rent from the many stabbing, slicing wounds that covered his body. Evidently the guards had not stopped hacking at him when he had ceased moving.

Wait a moment. Cassius paused, heart pounding, and reached out to pull aside the shirt, baring the man’s left shoulder. Underneath the dried blood, and intersected by a much newer wound that almost obscured them, were a series of glossy white scars that would almost have looked like an animal attack if Cassius hadn’t seen them before.

He remembered the moment in Cordiserrat when Valentin had pushed aside the shift and dress of Lady Ignatia, wife of Atellus Ventus, to reveal the same sequence of puncture marks and ragged gashes. He turned to Marcellus, and heard his voice shake as he said, “Whoever else this man may be, he is a Papirian.”

“I admire your self-control, brother; I expected this lecture a fortnight ago.” Valentin rolled his shoulders.

“I was trying to think of the best way to express my chargrin,” said Cassius with dignity.

“Or the gates of Gatanis brought home to you the enormity of your situation? Hundreds of nubile, docile slave boys; however will you stop yourself from losing control and rescuing them en masse?”

Cassius sighed. “I shall have to find some way, I suppose.”

Well, the best Valentin could realistically hope for from Cassius being dragged to Baetica was that Cassius would keep his moping about Llewellyn to himself and avoid depressing Valentin as well. Cassius, was of course, far to addicted to his own misery to refrain entirely from lolling about the place like a dying duck in a thunder storm.

“I do so enjoy these trade missions. The spice route this time, riveting.” Cassius stifled a yawn.

“Your enthusiasm is noted. Come on.” They entered the city gates with their escort and rode through town to the palace.

Behind him, Cassius said, “I don’t see why I couldn’t have gone to Ilouera and you to Gatanis. Why must we go everywhere together?”

“Because I’d miss you too much otherwise,” said Valentin, rolling his eyes.

Leaving their horses with a groom, they climbed the steps to the palace and were shown to the throne room. As they had been in Sha-Pensei and Merot, they were accompanied by guards and diplomats who were intended to do all the real work of negotiating, which would centre around duties levied on certain spices landed in Baetican ports en route to Jovan. Valentin was there merely to lend a sense of Imperial beneficence, and Cassius was there because, as he said, they were apparently a matched pair.

When Valentin had lived in Baetica they had been children, but both had grown into good natured boys. Bluff and simple, they enjoyed sport and hunting. Marrying the Empress of Jovan to the heir of Baetica would result in the unification of the crowns in the next generation, so the King wouldn’t entertain the thought of marrying the crown prince to Adrienne, but even though he was some years younger than her, Valentin still thought the second prince was the best candidate for Emperor-Consort. As his wedding gift he would bring a strong northern ally against Merot and a nearby army to deter rebellion.

Adrienne’s response had so far been, “But he’s a baby; far too young to be marrying anyone, let alone me.”

Valentin yawned and stood up, going over to a beautifully carved secretaire in one corner and taking out a piece of paper on which he dashed off a short note to an old Baetican friend of his. Gesturing the slave girl over, he sealed the letter and sent her on her way.

After dinner, when they had all moved into a reception room and a little troupe of musicians had struck up in one corner, a man crossed the room and held out his arm to Valentin. “My lord,” he said, “how wonderful to see you in Baetica again.”

“You too, Vallaterras. You are well?”

“Hale and hearty. How are Lady Luvina and your boy?”

“My wife is well, and Prince Felix grows apace and is not, I am told, an imbecile.” Valentin leaned back against a pillar and examined his tunic sleeve.

The Duke of Vallaterras ran his hand along his beard. “You Jovanis and your strange customs. Why is your boy a prince?”

“Because he is third in line for the throne,” said Valentin, “whereas I lost my coronet when Adrienne was born. It’s a silly old law that the heir to the Empire must always be the eldest in the line of succession. It’s supposed to guard against the constant menace posed by ambitious uncles.”

“But your brother is known outside Jovan as Prince Cassius?”

“A title he inherited through his mother, who is the Blue Princess of Caith’il Deran,” said Valentin. “Don’t worry too much about it, my friend; I know you prefer to look inward to Baetica.”

“I do,” said Vallaterras. He raised his eyebrows, “and I received your note. I will see what I can do, but the friend of whom you speak has no love for Jovanis.”

“His feelings may change when he hears what I have in mind. Hello Lord Petrucio, how are you?” Drawn into a series of light conversations with old acquaintances, Valentin didn’t have another chance to talk to the duke. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched with amusement as Cassius was approached and dragged into a dance formation by the daughter of Count Maltparras. He wasn’t sure which of them he pitied more.

Valentin fell in easily with his old crowd of dissolute young nobles and in the small hours, long after Cassius had fled to bed, they moved into a little salon, where slaves served them spiced, fortified wine and the semi-darkness hid a multitude of sins.

In the morning, Valentin was woken by his slave girl slipping out of the bed to begin her morning chores, but when he rolled over he discovered he was still sharing the bed with another, who he seemed to recall had been serving him wine some hours before. Smiling to himself, he shook her awake. She would have tasks that needed doing before her masters awoke, and he didn’t see why a night of indulgence with him should lead her to be whipped for neglecting her other duties.

As the girl climbed out of bed and hurried out the door, Valentin leaned back against the pillows and stretched. Blessed few, he loved Baetica.

After a light breakfast served on a tray by the slave girl, he rose and wandered through the hallways to the baths. Here he found one of his cronies from the previous night stepping into the hot bath with the same aura of rumpled smugness that Valentin had no doubt he emanated himself.

“Hullo, brother,” said Cassius with an air of disapproval.

“You look well-rested,” said Valentin.

Cassius muttered something into his soup, and Valentin didn’t pursue the matter.

After lunch, they both sat in on the negotiations regarding the spice route, but Cassius escaped at the afternoon recess, no doubt to go in search of someone willing to have a sword swung at them.

The evening proceeded much as the previous night had done, but the next morning Valentin rose with the slave girl, bathed quickly, donned a neat, stylish tunic, and went out into the gardens. Tucked against the palace wall, at the back corner of the garden, was a little nook, circled by hedges and overhung by an old oak tree. Valentin was the first to arrive, so he circled the garden and then leaned against the oak tree to wait.

Vallaterras arrived shortly after, with another man behind him This man was of a nondescript appearance which could be Baetican, Jovani, Merot or Skyan. He was short and his robes hung over an expanding gut. He eyed Valentin with cautious curiousity.

“Valentin, this is Ipni Bapany. Bapany, Lord Valentin Sylvanus.”

“Pleasure to meet you, my lord,” said Bapany. “I understand you are wishful to speak to me.”

“I am. I would like to invite you to stay with me in Monsilys. I come on behalf of my cousin, Lord Bracchus Platinus, who is desirous of making your acquaintance.”

“Bracchus Platinus,” echoed Bapany, eyes gleaming with interest. “He is a great supporter of my trade, I know.”

“He is.” Valentin crossed his arms over his chest.

“Is the case different in Jovan to what I had heard? The last time I spoke to your Empress, she was… well, as you know, she was not friendly. And I understand that now it would be even more dangerous for me to visit Monsilys.”

“The matter has been mishandled in the past,” said Valentin. “I can manage any danger, and I am hopeful of a positive outcome within the year.”

Bapany nodded. “I will think about your offer, Lord Valentin.”

“I appreciate it,” said Valentin, inclining his head.

Vallaterras nodded to Valentin and left with Bapany. Valentin leaned back against the oak tree and inhaled deeply a few times before he left the garden and went to find Cassius.

As he had suspected, Cassius was channelling his boredom and distaste at Baetican culture into pummelling some poor soldier in the barracks practice ring. He stopped when he saw Valentin and came over, resting his elbows against the wooden barrier that separated the ring from the yard.

“I think we have been here long enough to placate her Blessed Majesty,” said Valentin.

“Really?” said Cassius. “You think that your duel with that Ventus boy was a three-day offence?”

“You forget the fortnight of travel either way and the fact that we had to stop at Whitefields for a night, which was surely punishment enough on its own.”

“Hah.” Cassius pressed his lips together. “What about the spice trade?”

“It hardly needs my august presence to conclude the negotiations. We have served our purpose, sowing goodwill between royal families. Once they get down to brass tacks, I’ll only be in the way.”

“All right, but I’m leaving it to you to explain to Adrienne.” Cassius wiped the heel of his hand across his forehead.

It was a little after two in the afternoon. Cassius found Caspar and a horde of others down by the water, testing for gaps and weaknesses in the makeshift wall. The sun was bright overhead, and it was warm for the time of year. He knew Caspar was watching the flood marker, a wooden board with finger-span increments painted on it. Every hour or so, another white line vanished beneath the murky brown water.

Then the tide started to come in, the clear green sea water pushing back against the river. The water rose quickly then; breaking the bounds of the brick-and-mortar wall, and testing the reinforcements installed in the last few hours.

The light started to fade and Cassius shouted for torches, as many as could be found. Then they waited. Occasionally someone darted forwards to plug a hole or add more structure.

Sometime after dark, Cassius looked down and tapped his toe, splashing in the small puddle around his feet. He beckoned Caspar over with a torch. “Look.”

Caspar crouched by Cassius’ feet and said, “It’s probably normal. But…” He frowned. “It’s flowing towards the sea.” He stood and pointed at Karmin, who was running towards them. “I think I know what he’s coming to tell us.”

“The river is breaking around the wall on the western edge of the town.” Karmin leaned his elbows on his knees and puffed.

“How bad is it?” said Caspar.

“Fairly bad,” said Karmin, “but not irretrievable.”

“Take whatever you need to shore it up.”

“I’ll–” Cassius hesitated. “I’ll come and help.”

Karmin gave him a shiningly grateful look.

The western edge of the town was bearing the brunt of the river’s force, and for the next few hours Cassius’ every thought was of brick, wood and clay. Then the work was done, and they lapsed into exhausted, waiting stillness.

Townsfolk moved between them with trays of food and mulled ale. Karmin came over, hovered for a moment, and sat down beside him. The water was licking the top of the wall. Cassius watched a splash make its way down through stone, wood and canvas to join a muddy puddle.

“How much more, do you think?” said Karmin.

“I don’t know; Caspar’s the expert,” said Cassius. “If the water rose enough that it overflowed the wall… what would that do to Ilouera? What would be safe?”

“If the town was under six feet of water?” said Karmin. “Everything except the buildings on the hill and some outlying homesteads would be flooded. But having a slow-rising flood is still better than the wall of water we faced; all the houses in the floodpath have been emptied. I am so glad I found you, Lord Cassius. No matter what happens, you have saved Ilouera.”

Cassius ducked his head. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “It’s Prince Caspar you should be thanking, and the others.”

“You brought them here,” said Karmin.

Cassius thought back to Valentin’s words. Carefully, giving him time to flinch away, he reached out and put his hand on Karmin’s thigh. Karmin looked down at it, then up at Cassius, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” said Cassius, letting his hand drop away.

“No, don’t… I mean, I would very much like to. Very much indeed.”

Cassius smiled. “When we have saved your town, then.”

“Thank you Lord Cassius.”

Although he cringed at the hero worship in Karmin’s voice, Cassius reflected that at least he could be certain Karmin didn’t simply see the arrangement as payment for Cassius’ help.

Once they could no longer wade through to the wall, Caspar had said they might as well get out of the way and leave it to the legionaries, who had a job to do keeping the locals away from the flooded area.

The mood remained eerily quiet, as it had been ever since the storm blew away. Beside Cassius sat Valentin and Caspar, hands resting against their knees, eyes fixed on the wall like Cassius’. The wall was a long, misshapen line in the distance, with the river pushing and breaking against its very top.

“If we’d built the wall a little higher…” said Cassius.

“We couldn’t have,” said Caspar. “We hadn’t enough materials; we would have stretched it too thin, and all odds it would have come down entirely and flooded the whole town.”

“As it is,” Valentin’s voice was smooth and cool, “you used the time not spent on the wall clearing those… houses down there. Wood will dry, and all their valuables are safe on high ground.”

Wordlessly, Cassius nodded.

When Cassius, Valentin, Caspar and Adelais conferred, they decided there was little more they could do, and that they should return to Monsilys the next morning. They would leave half the legionaries in Ilouera to help with dismantling the flood wall and moving people back into their houses.

When they told the head man of the decision, Cassius’ eyes flashed to Karmin, and he found Karmin was looking back at him. Cassius raised his eyebrows, and Karmin blushed and an involuntary smile quirked into the corner of his mouth.

Right then, thought Cassius. He glanced to the right and found a smirk plastered on Valentin’s face.

Late that night, when everyone had sought their beds, Cassius slipped down to the kitchen, where Karmin slept on a pallet. Karmin sat up when the door opened. He didn’t say anything, just watched Cassius cross the room and kneel beside the bed.

In the light of two candles, Cassius studied the line of Karmin’s cheek and jaw, first with his eyes, then with his hand. He hesitated, and Karmin said, “What is it?”

“You’re sure?” said Cassius.

Karmin nodded and crossed his hands in front of him to pull off his shirt. He was naked underneath, and, as Cassius discovered, stirring. Cassius felt his breath hitch. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Karmin’s cock, stroking it to life. Karmin’s head fell back and he hung on his shoulders, gasping.

“Please, sir,” said Karmin. Cassius stood up, shedding his nightshirt. He waited for a moment, letting Karmin run his eyes over his body with its battle scars, then took himself in hand. His eyes sank closed as he thrust into the constriction of his fist, so he felt, rather than saw, Karmin sit up and lay his hand on Cassius’. When Cassius opened his eyes, there was a question in Karmin’s that made every bone in Cassius’ body ache with lust. In answer, he let his hand drop, and Karmin eagerly replaced it with his mouth.

“Oh–blessed few,” Cassius mumbled, scrabbling behind him for something to hold himself up. He found the fireplace and clung to it, eyes rolling back in his head, and his entire being focused on the building sensations in his crotch.

After a while, he pushed on Karmin’s shoulder, guiding him to lie back against the pillows. Karmin reached around and produced a pot of some yellowish-white, opaque substance. Cassius took it and sniffed: it smelled like wool. Karmin lay above the covers, leg crooked, cock curled against his thigh. It was pretty evident what Karmin intended the substance to be used for, but Cassius reflected with amusement that this was a somewhat more homely coital aid than he was used to.

Nonetheless, it served its purpose, and having worked Karmin open, Cassius slid inside him, slowly, until their hips brushed. They moved together, stifling the unavoidable sounds of pleasure, until both were satisfied.

Cassius slung the saddlebags over his horse and nodded in Valentin’s direction.

“I gather you found somewhere else to sleep last night.”

“You are correct,” said Cassius austerely, but he couldn’t help flicking Valentin a conspiratorial smile over his shoulder.

Valentin swung onto his horse. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Caspar and Adelais emerged from the building. “Glad to hear what? Hullo, Cassius, where were you last night?”

“He was otherwise engaged,” said Valentin, looking over his horse’s ears.

“Ah.” Caspar nodded. “Karmin?”

Valentin tilted his chin to where the head man and his family had emerged to see them off. Cassius gave his horse’s reins to a legionary and stepped forward to receive their thanks, accompanied by a freshly-slaughtered lamb and a basket of vegetables.

Feeling rather than seeing Valentin’s smirk, Cassius kept his farewells brief, and contented himself with clasping Karmin’s forearm slightly longer than necessary. Karmin nodded and said, “You are always welcome in Ilouera, Lord Cassius, and we will tell everyone that you saved our village.”

“Tell them it was the Empress’ generosity that sent us here,” said Cassius.

Karmin nodded. Cassius moved on to thank and farewell the head man, then returned to his horse and mounted. As they rode out, Adelais said, “So Uncle Cassius, you tumbled the head man’s son?”

“Princess,” said Cassius, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Well? I’m not a baby.”

“Blessed few, I can’t wait to get back to Monsilys,” said Valentin. “I am going to soak in the baths for a day.”

Cassius and Caspar exchanged an amused look. Adelais settled down into her saddle and glared straight ahead. Caspar brought his horse alongside hers and said, “You didn’t act like a baby at Ilouera, Adelais. You acted like a princess.”

“I wasn’t much use,” said Adelais. “You wouldn’t let me come down to the river.”

Valentin ran a hand over his hair. “You’re the heir to the throne of Jovan.”

“Well, what was your excuse?” Adelais fired back.

“I detest being dirty,” said Valentin with unimpaired calm.

Cassius laughed.

Most people do not spend much time thinking about words. When they want to speak, the words present themselves, and trip happily off the tongue to form shapes and patterns in the air before them. People for whom the words are swift and the patterns beautiful are called eloquent, while those whose words hang sullen and resentful before them are called inarticulate. But most people, whether eloquent or inarticulate, have never looked for their words and found them cowering with terror and refusing to come out at all.

For Arabella, the idea of speech has always been a fraught one. She can speak, there is no physical impediment, but the words retreated deep within her when she was a child, and only when she is alone can she coax them out into the world.

Only the ambition of her parents when they realised they had a pretty, graceful daughter pushed her onto the stage; they sold her to the opera when she was seven years old, and she grew up in the turns and passages around and underneath the stage.

When she was old enough, she began to perform. Not because she wanted to, but because the opera owned her and not to perform was to be cast out on the street.

She remembers her parents; she remembers them screaming at each other, and she remembers her mother’s smothering protectiveness, there, my dear, stay close to mother.

It is winter, and has been dark for several hours. There is still an hour until the curtain rises. Arabella sits at the mirror in her dressing room, applying the thick white paint to her face. Her outfit is on a hanger over the edge of the mirror. The paint erases all her features, and she takes up pots and brushes to draw them back on. Brown eyes drawn into a fey shape by black eyeliner and purple eye-paint; the round, soft line of cheek and chin sharpened by rouge, and the lips made like slashes in the face by red lipstick.

At five minutes to curtain-up, she gathers with the other dancers in the large space behind the wings. Claiming a section of the barre set up against one wall, she continues the stretching warm-up she started in her dressing room. The bell rings, and the house lights are doused. The maestro calls the orchestra to life and they begin the overture. The singers brush past; dancers are beneath their notice. Arabella pushes onto the ball of one foot, then the other, then circles her ankle, stretching the tendons.

After the opening arias, they step up to the wings, awaiting their cue. Arabella watches as the corps dancers run onstage. From her place in the wing she can see the edge of the prince’s box and a green clad shoulder with gold epaulettes.

The wait between the beginning of the performance and her entrance always seems to telescope into an eon, and yet no time at all. She steps forward, checks the ribbons on her shoes, straightens her costume, and glides onstage.

The audience is hushed and still. Heads rise out of dark suits and evening dresses, eyes black holes in faces dimly picked out by the stage lights. She spins and jumps, lands lightly, and spins again. The music swells and she crosses the stage stands still while the corps dance around her. She is the snow queen: she acknowledges her court with fluttering, twisting hand gestures.

The lead tenor steps onstage. She sees him and brushes aside her court to flutter toward him. He ignores her, gazing over the stalls and thinking of the soprano. The dancers pull her back: there can be no thought of love between a dancer and a singer.

She finds her mark in the centre of the stage and, shifting her weight onto her left leg, slowly lifts the right, first to the level of her knee, then unfolding up the side of her body. The muscles through both legs and her stomach strain and shake as she twists into an arabesque. The violins hold a tremolo, and then she is spinning again, spotting to the candle at the front of the dress circle.

She lands her leg; the muscles around her knee tremble. Head thrown back, arms in attitude, she feels for a moment as if she might scream. The words are there, weighing down the back of her tongue. She could almost do it. The violins are joined by the rest of the orchestra, sweeping into the final chords of the song as the tenor sees her and reaches out, involuntarily, towards her.

Her first solo is over; she accepts the applause of the audience. The flutes take up the opening of the next song as Arabella leaves the stage. Her voice retreats back into the warm darkness between heart and lungs.

Adelais said, “I won’t be a bother, uncle, I promise.”

“My dear,” said Valentin affably, “I can’t think of anything more bothersome than having you along on this journey.”

Cassius stifled a laugh and turned to Karmin, who said, “Thank you again, Lord Cassius. I never dreamed that my plea would bring you to Ilouera personally.”

“I serve the Empress,” said Cassius. “She felt so keenly the plight of your town that she wished to come with us to save it. Being unable, she sent us as poor substitutes.”

“No-one could think you that, sir,” said Karmin, crumpling his horse’s reins in his hands.

The last few miles of the coast road were flooded, so they paused for a rest while a troop of legionaries broke a path along the high ground. They reached Ilouera just before nightfall.

“I’m sorry that we don’t have a residence fit for you to stay in, sirs,” said Karmin Ranno, who had handled the presence of a princess of Jovan and a prince of Toqueia by hunching up his shoulders and addressing his remarks exclusively to Cassius or Valentin.

“We’ll make do,” said Valentin.

“The prince and princess will have my father’s bedroom, of course, while if sirs do not mind, they may take mine.”

Adelais looked at Caspar, who winced. “The princess should take the best bedroom,” he said. “If you two don’t mind, I will sleep in with you.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Karmin trailed off.

“Don’t worry,” said Caspar with a wry smile. “As we are not married, it isn’t done for us to share a room. Court customs are very stuffy about these things.”

“I see. Please accept my apologies, Prince Caspar.” Karmin bowed. “Dinner will be served at your convenience.”

“I should like to see the town first,” said Adelais.

“Princess, this isn’t a sightseeing visit.” Valentin rubbed his hand across his eyes. “And I for one would like to get out of these damp clothes.”

“I meant that I would like to see the town’s state,” said Adelais. “The sea wall and the river bank, in particular. With this rain and the tide it might not be possible to get a good look at them tomorrow, and we have at best an hour of daylight.”

Valentin gave every appearance of not having heard this speech. Into an awkward silence, Caspar said, “I think that’s an excellent idea. Let’s go now: no sense in changing into dry clothes if we are only going to get wet again.”

Cassius looked at Valentin, who was edging his way towards the staircase. “Brother?”

“Oh yes, go with my blessing,” said Valentin, waving his hand. “I will oversee the provisioning of the rooms and the preparation of dinner.”

As they left, Caspar said to Cassius, “Poor Valentin. No warm fires, no wine, and no courtiers to charm.”

Cassius stifled a smile. “Yes, I expect he feels his talents are wasted on Ilouera.”

The houses near the water were barely more than shanties, all sitting on wooden stilts that raised them perhaps a foot off the ground. The road began as cobblestones and ended as a series of wooden slats pressed into the mud. The entire area smelled of seaweed and dead fish.

“Does it flood here often?” said Caspar, scanning around him.

“Every spring and autumn tide,” said Karmin, “and sometimes when it rains. That is why people are refusing to leave. They don’t understand the danger. They know the tidal flood, and they know the groundwater flood. But they don’t understand that it is raining upriver as well, and eventually that water will reach us here.” He gestured to his feet. “The ground is soaked. When the water comes, it will be met by the tide. The ground is soaked; there will be nowhere for it to go.”

“What precautions have you already taken?” said Caspar.

“The riverside has been evacuated,” said Karmin, “but they keep coming back. And those further away refuse to leave.”

Caspar, with Cassius following, splashed through a few inches of water lying over the road and looked over into the river. It was bulwarked by a sturdy-looking stone wall, but the river was already licking the top. It would have to rise less than a foot to overflow its bounds.

“We need to evacuate,” said Cassius. “By force if necessary. I will instruct the legionaries.”

Caspar nodded. “They should go around tonight and warn the residents that they will have to leave tomorrow morning. That will give them time to prepare their belongings.”

Nodding, Cassius beckoned the legionary captain over and gave him his orders.

“We have a few hours to build up the sea wall. It won’t be enough: the water will find other ways, but it will give us more time.”

“The mortar will have no time to dry,” said Karmin. “Not in this weather.”

“It needn’t be bricked. Anything sturdy will do. A wall of stone with a wooden structure, perhaps. Canvas bags full of sand to strengthen it. Anything we can find.”

“Evacuate the old, young, infirm and unwilling,” said Cassius to the captain. “Send everyone else here. We will put them to work.”

“Very good thinking,” said Caspar with a smile as the captain jogged away. Cassius’ treacherous heart stuttered, and he cleared his throat and nodded. Blessed few, he was desperate for a tumble.

He turned away and met the glowing gaze of Karmin Ranno. The head man’s son was a good looking man, a few years younger than Cassius, with a strong jaw and light blue eyes which Cassius found quite fascinating.

Get a grip on yourself, he thought. All odds he is happily married, and has never looked at a man that way in his life. If they spent the night together, it would probably be because Karmin thought it was quid pro quo for Cassius’ assistance. The thought tasted sour in his mouth.

Adelais had hung back until now, but she stopped Cassius as walked past her. “I think I should go with the legionaries to notify the town,” she said. “I want to reassure the people here that even if they do leave, we will stay and do what we can.”

“That’s a very good idea, princess,” said Caspar. “An excellent idea, in fact.”

Straightening her shoulders, Adelais said, “I do want to be helpful.”

“Perhaps Valentin might be persuaded to assist?” said Caspar. “It doesn’t strike me that mud, sand and stone will suit him.”

Cassius nodded, then heard his stomach rumble. “Valentin will certainly be more amenable to the idea after dinner,” he said.

When the meal was done, Valentin and Adelais went away with the head man and a few legionaries, and Cassius tucked himself back into his oilskin cloak and tromped back down to the river. It was a long, exhausting night. As the sun went down, the locals started to appear, rugged up and wearing sturdy boots, carrying stone, planks of wood, canvas bags and anything else they could scavenge.

They were put to work alongside Caspar and Cassius, and all through the night they removed furniture from the houses and took it to high ground, raised the wall, and reinforced the pylons on which the lowest-lying houses sat.

When the sun touched his shovel, Cassius stuck it in the mud and looked up. The dawn had broken on eerie quiet and a clear blue sky. The storm had blown itself out in the night. When he thought back, Cassius realised it had stopped raining sometime in the dark early hours of the morning, but Cassius had been so deep in mud and misery, he had scarcely noticed.

“It’s going to be a beautiful day,” said Caspar. He didn’t sound happy.

“The town is safe, then?” said one of the residents.

“All this effort for nothing?” said another, laying down his hammer and cracking his neck.

“No,” said Caspar. He bit his lip and looked inland. “The damage has been done. The water that fell upstream yesterday is still coming for us, and the tide is still coming in.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “At least it won’t get any worse than it is already.”

The wall was now two feet higher than it had been. Caspar turned to Cassius. “What time is the autumn tide due?”

“Just before dusk,” said Karmin, whose hair was sticking up and caked with mud.

“Everyone, go and get some rest,” said Cassius. “We will leave a legionary on guard so we know when the river threatens the wall. Tonight will be a long night.”

He stumbled back to the head man’s house and found Valentin, looking fresh as a daisy, waiting for him with breakfast.

“You look exhausted, brother,” he said.

Cassius slumped down at the table and picked up the bread Valentin pushed towards him. They were alone in the room; Caspar was outside talking to the legionary captain.

“How goes it?” said Valentin.

“We’ve done all we can for now,” said Cassius. “The water will rise tonight. It’s lucky we brought Caspar. He knew exactly what to do.”

“Yes, I understand some parts of Toqueia are very prone to flooding.”

“Karmin, too. He worked alongside us without a complaint.”

“I should think so,” said Valentin, pushing his hair over his shoulder and leaning on his elbows. “It’s his town. Besides, he’s enamoured of you.”

Cassius paused in his eating. “Don’t be absurd. If anything, he’s awestruck; nothing unusual in that, unfortunately.”

Waving this away, Valentin said, “Well, for whatever reason, I hope you’ll consider taking advantage of it when all this is done.”

“No I won’t,” said Cassius.

“But you haven’t tumbled anyone since Llewellyn,” said Valentin, opening his eyes wide. “Aren’t you going mad?”

Going from ravenous to a little ill, Cassius pushed aside his plate. “How did you know Llewellyn and I had…”

“Consummated your love?” Valentin’s voice was dry. “I hoped, but I didn’t want to plague you about it.”

“I thought it might have been your eerie omniscience again,” said Cassius sourly.

“Yes, I am quite perceptive. And I understand you very well, Cassius. Take up with Karmin.”

“You know my distaste for abusing my rank,” said Cassius, as Caspar stuck his head in. “I have to go and get some sleep. Caspar, would you like to finish this?”

As Cassius stomped out of the room, Valentin called after him, “I do know your penchant for sabotaging yourself.”

At first, he commandeered a disused salle and went about his sword practice largely as usual. After a couple of days the dreary darkness sapped his energy and he took to lounging around his room, half asleep, staring into the fire or attempting to get through the pile of briefings related to the city guard, which increased in frequency as the low-lying parts of the docks became at serious risk of flooding. The guard sought and obtained his permission to evict tenants from low-lying insulae before they collapsed, and a tent settlement sprang up on the plain, a collection of sodden canvas tents, leaning against each other as if huddling for warmth.

It kept raining.

Cassius went down to the city, to the sad, abandoned insulae, where the water had overflown the gutters and pooled in the street, full of effluent. He rode out to the tent city and surveyed the masses of ragged, miserable humanity from the height of his horse and the comparative warmth of a wool tunic and oilskin cloak.

The plain was well above sea level and at no risk of flooding, but on its great, grassy expanse the water had nowhere to run off, and having soaked the soil and grass, sat in thin sheets over the ground.

He leaned over to ask the city prefect, “Is there no way we can find any more solid structure for them?”

“The Temples have taken all the people they can, Commander,” said the prefect.

“Have we any more blankets to distribute?”

“All sodden: my men are attempting to dry them out by the barracks fires.”

Cassius sighed and turned his horse’s head towards the city, his mind drifting away from the plight of those behind him and towards the warm fire in his room.

Just as they were crossing underneath the city gate, “Sir,” came a voice behind Cassius. “Sir, excuse me.” He turned in the saddle, just as the prefect brought his horse around to try and interpose himself between Cassius and the speaker.

Cassius held up his hand and the prefect loosened his reins. “Good afternoon,” he said to the young man who had hailed him. He was handsome, with light brown hair and a strong jaw, and dressed in a brown wool cloak that set him apart from the ragged homespun of the peasants. “How can I help you?”

The prefect interjected, “There is no accommodation anywhere else. You must shift in the tent until the docks are safe to return to.”

“I’m not from the docks,” said the man. “I’m from Ilouera.”

Cassius furrowed his brow as he tried to recall what sort of a place that was. “That’s the little town on the mouth of the Verteon, isn’t it?”

“It is, sir.”

“You should call the Commander Lord Cassius, young man,” said the prefect.

The man looked down at his hands, wound together in front of him. “I’m sorry, Lord Cassius.”

“It’s all right. What is your name?”

“Karmin Ranno,” he said. “I’m the son of the head man of Ilouera.”

“How can I help you, Karmin Ranno?” said Cassius, glancing back towards the city.

“My father asked me to come to Monsilys to beg the city guard to send some men. We are sorely frightened that our village will drown, and there is the autumn tide in two days. Already the rain has loosened the rocks and dirt of the escarpment.”

“You should evacuate,” said Cassius. “Ilouera must be less than a day’s ride. If the people come here, to the plain, and they will be looked after.”

“They won’t come,” said Karmin. “We’ve tried.”

“Will they go upriver?”

“We can’t. The river is too rough to navigate, and the road is blocked.”

Cassius put his reins in one hand and rested his other hand on his knee. “Why do you want the city guard?”

“We need to bulwark the sea wall before the autumn tide, Lord Cassius, but we have no expertise and not enough men. And we need to reinforce the houses and buildings by the river. Otherwise Ilouera will be washed out to sea, and half the townsfolk with it.”

Cassius drummed his fingers on his knee. “The river is high?”

“Bursting its banks, Lord Cassius.”

“And the autumn tide is in two days. How many live in Ilouera?”

“Around five hundred,” said Karmin. “And four thousand sheep.”

“Prefect, send a troop of men to Ilouera, with my authorisation, to assist in any way they may.”

“Thank you so much, Lord Cassius,” said Karmin.

“Commander, the Monsilys city guard does not travel beyond the plain. If you wish to send legionaries or Imperial Guards, you must ask the Empress.”

Cassius stared at the prefect. “What kind of blessed use would Imperial Guards be? What do they know about bulwarking a town against flood?”

“What does the city guard know about it?” said the prefect with an elegant shrug.

Cassius bit back a stinging retort. “Karmin Ranno, give details of where you may be contacted to the prefect. I will take Ilouera’s case to the Empress.” He nudged his horse forward and cantered away into the city, leaving the prefect behind.

At the palace, he learned that the Empress was in her private drawing room. When he got there, he found the entire family: Adrienne, Lady Kyria, Luvina and Prince Caspar playing cards, Adelais sitting near the fire tooling around softly on a little lap harp and throwing glances at the oblivious Caspar, while Valentin half-listened and half-watched Felix playing on the floor with a moppet.

Valentin looked up at Cassius and said, “Brother, welcome. Where have you been?”

“Out inspecting the accommodations for the people displaced by flooding in the docks.”

“Oh,” said Valentin politely, “and did you find arrangements acceptable?”

“No, but I came here to discuss something else.” He crossed to the table and waited for the Empress to acknowledge him.

After a moment she set down her cards and said, “Yes, Uncle Cassius? It seems important.”

“It is, Empress. On my way back into the city, I was stopped by the son of the head man of Ilouera. It’s the town on the mouth of the Verteon River.”

Adrienne gave him her full attention. Cassius noticed that Caspar was also listening with interest, while Kyria seemed engrossed in examining the damascened finish of the table.

“His name was Karmin Ranno and he came to beg me to sent a troop of the city guard to Ilouera. According to his account, the town is in danger from an autumn tide and a river flood at the same time. They don’t wish to abandon their homes, but they need assistance to bulwark the sea wall and the riverbank.”

“I have no objection,” said Adrienne.

“Well, the prefect does.” Cassius tried to keep his voice mild. “He claims the guard do not go beyond the plain, and suggested I seek your permission to send a troop of legionaries instead.”

“Are there no legionaries in the region already?” Adrienne raised her eyebrows.

“Apparently not,” Cassius replied. “The overland route to Ilouera has been cut–by a mudslide, I presume. And since the town is small and the Verteon isn’t used as a shipping route, I doubt they have a guard or legionaries to call on in the town.”

“Hm,” said Adrienne.

“Might I suggest something, Empress?” said Valentin from his place by the fire.

“By all means, Uncle Valentin.”

Valentin stood up and lounged over to the table, resting his hand on the back of Kyria’s chair. She gave him no acknowledgement except to lean forward, away from his hand.

“Send the legionaries, with Cassius at their head. We’ve been looking for a way to send a strong message to the common folk that gens Sylvana will look after them. Send your uncle to defend Ilouera, and the message will spread around Jovan.”

“I will go willingly,” said Cassius straightening his shoulders, and encountered an amused look from his brother.

“Yes, you’re right, Valentin. We will send enough legionaries to protect Ilouera, with Cassius in command.” She paused, nodding to herself, then fixed her attention on Valentin. “You will go as well.”

“I? What possible use could I be?” said Valentin, blinking. Luvina made an unladylike noise and got up from the table to sit down on the floor with Felix.

“Why, Uncle Cassius will do the good deeds, and you will make sure that the right person gets the credit, and the right people hear of them,” said Adrienne with a small smile.

“Empress, I should like to go as well,” said Caspar. “The parts of Toqueia around the Ertianis River often flood. I may be of some use.”

“All right,” said Adrienne. She stood and scanned over Valentin, Cassius and Caspar. “I almost wish I could come. It is very frustrating always having to stay in Monsilys.”

“Do come,” said Caspar quickly. “If Cassius’ presence makes a strong statement, just think how much more so would yours.”

Adrienne bit her lip. “I wish I could,” she said, hesitating. “What do you think, Uncle Valentin?”

Choosing his words carefully, Valentin said, “You will do what you think is best, my dear, but as you have asked for my advice, I would point out that your value to Jovan is very great, and there is some risk in travelling from Monsilys in this weather, particularly to a town threatened by disaster.”

“You’re right, of course,” said Adrienne.

“Well, I’m not even slightly valuable.” Adelais had been listening, and now came over, hooking her arm through Prince Caspar’s elbow. “I want to go. If Cassius, Valentin and Caspar are going, then I will be perfectly safe–as least as safe as anyone like me needs to be.” She stared down Adrienne, who had turned in on herself. Now the Empress met Caspar’s eyes for a fleeting moment and turned away. “Yes, Adelais, you may go if you wish.”

Cassius looked at Valentin in time to catch his wince. He pulled a sympathetic face. As they were leaving the room to go and pack, he whispered, “I’m sorry, brother: I know you were only trying to do me a favour.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Valentin replied, looking out a window as they passed at the heavy black storm clouds hanging over the city.

“Please, sit down,” said Valentin, disposing himself on a couch. “Wine?”

“Yes, I thank you,” said Bracchus. “And how goes it, Lord Valentin? Your family is enjoying the city life?”

“Prince Felix is,” said Valentin, cradling his drink and beckoning a servant holding a platter of fruit over to him. “My wife misses her home, I think. I expect she will return to Whitefields soon.”

At that moment, Elodia entered, a vision of young womanhood in a clinging white chiton tied with gold cord under her breasts. Bracchus studied her, eyebrows raised.

“Lord Bracchus, this is Elodia, our hostess this evening.”

“My dear,” said Bracchus, taking her hand. Elodia greeted him pleasantly, then sat down beside Valentin, settling herself into the crook of his arm. “Where were we?” Bracchus’ expression was bland. “Ah yes, you were telling me Lady Luvina will be returning to Whitefields.”

“Luvina and I try to interfere in each others’ lives as little as possible,” said Valentin. “How is your own wife?”

“Very well; she is enjoying the health benefits of the Tyrian hot springs.”

They talked of inconsequential matters over dinner, but Valentin had the feeling of playing a long and complex word game with his cousin. It was exhilarating, to match wits with a cunning player. They discussed the weather, the state of roads, the issue of public safety and the strength of the Empire. Although they had touched on nothing consequential, by the time the platters were removed, Valentin was leaning back against the arm of the couch, trying to stop a smile from ruining his perfect, careless expression.

Elodia had listened without involving herself in the conversation. Now she said, “Shall I have the braziers set up?”

“Do you like a bit of poppy vapour, Bracchus, or would you like to keep your wits sharp?”

“I’ve never found the poppies dull my wits, cousin,” said Bracchus.

“Very well,” said Valentin lazily. “Now, I wish to discuss business with you.”

“Ah,” Bracchus leaned forward, “I thought you must.”

“Today in council I heard something rather interesting.”

Bracchus raised his eyebrows. “I infer you do not mean my own paltry contribution.”

“Lady Kyria’s proposal.”

“Ah yes, to save the whores of Monsilys.”

Valentin folded his arms. “I noticed that you voted against it.”

“I was feeling mean.” Bracchus raised and lowered his shoulders. “And I didn’t see the point of the thing.”

“It is true that Lady Kyria went about it the wrong way,” said Valentin.

“The unfortunate men and women,” Bracchus’ tone was dry.

“Indeed. But with the right spokesperson, I believe the council could be made to see the merits of the idea.”

Bracchus leaned backwards, a smile playing around the corners of his lips. “The right spokesperson? You overrate my influence. The cause I truly believe in, that I have thrown all my heart into, where has it come to? To speak of Jovan signing the Covenant is treason.”

“Against the Empress’ opposition, you secured a third of the council in favour last time there was a vote,” said Valentin.

“Ah yes. Was that the time you voted in favour, or against?”

“I believe I voted nay,” said Valentin.

“Very wise. More wine, I think?”

Valentin beckoned the servant. “The cause is not lost.”

Bracchus shook his head. “I believe that Jovan will never join the slaving nations while Adrienne is Empress,” he said.

Adrienne is young. She has said no for now, but she can be worked on. If done in the right way by the right people, she won’t call it treason. In a few years, you may have your yes.”

“Hm,” said Bracchus. “I see. Well, I think I see what you are bargaining with. I will help you get Lady Kyria’s unfortunates proposal accepted. In return, you will help me see slavery a reality in Jovan.”

“It will require careful handling. You must let me manage matters.”

Making a cutting gesture, Bracchus said, “This has been my work for the last ten years, Valentin. I will not move to the stands while you take over the show.”

Valentin frowned. “Then I don’t know if we can help each other after all, cousin.”

*

Cassius caught Valentin as he was walking back to his rooms the next morning. “I’ve been thinking about Adrienne and Caspar,” he said.

Valentin looked around. There was no-one nearby. “You should be careful linking their names in public,” he said.

“Why can’t she marry him? It isn’t as if Prince Patrizio would object.”

“We talked about it,” said Valentin. “But the Empress’ hand in marriage is worth a great deal more than a younger son of Toqueia. She needs to marry either one of the elder sons of the aura, or a prince of a great military power. The ascension of the Sylvani to the throne is still within living memory and there are still those who would love to topple us. If I had my way, Adrienne would marry the prince of Baetica, or perhaps Lord Pavely of gens Sola. He’s a decent man, who wouldn’t try and step above his position as consort, and the Soli bring with them the power of five thousand men.”

“I see,” said Cassius, sighing, “but it seems so heartless.”

Valentin fought the urge to roll his eyes. “We talked about you too, you know.”

“Me, a dynastic marriage?” said Cassius, wincing. “Blessed few, that would be a bad deal for the lady.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Your cousin Mila, for example, Valentin added mentally. “And you’re forgetting that some of the inlanders allow like-to-like marriages if you are wealthy enough to buy the permits,” said Valentin. “Merot, for example, or Deusetats.”

“Thus ensuring that such marriages will only be made for political or economic reasons,” said Cassius.

“If you married one of the Deusetats royals, they might stop providing money and arms to the Gallican resistance, thus allowing the stabilisation of the province and the use of the Jovani occupying force elsewhere.”

“And I would be stuck married to a barbarian prince who in all likelihood would be disgusted by the entire fact of our marriage and would spend his nights tumbling the servant girls.”

Valentin leaned against the wall and massaged his temples with one hand. “Cassius, the fact of your preference for men doesn’t free you from the realities of your station. You are a Sylvanus, you enjoy the privileges of power, and in return you must make sacrifices. Don’t climb on your high horse about the bloodlessness of marriage, and the hollowness of trading love for power; I can’t stand it.”

Cassius stared at him for a long moment. “The irony of you, brother, lecturing me on my obligations to gens Sylvana,” he said in a tightly controlled voice, then stalked away.

*

By the time council began a few hours later, Valentin had a blinding headache. He slouched into the room and slumped down on the bench, pinching the bridge of his nose and pressing his eyes closed. When Adrienne entered and opened the session, he cracked one eye and discovered that Bracchus was sitting next to him. “Sore head?” he said.

“Constantly,” muttered Valentin.

The session progressed through the usual matters, then, as Adrienne was about to adjourn it, Bracchus stood. “I beg the attention of my lords and ladies for a moment,” he said.

“Lord Bracchus,” said Adrienne, narrowing her eyes.

“Don’t be alarmed, Empress. I only wish to say that since yesterday I have thought long and hard on the proposal put to the council by Lady Kyria. I believe that the proposal has merit and should be investigated further.”

Valentin stifled a smirk at the vagueness of this wording. Bracchus had evidently paid so little attention yesterday that he couldn’t recall any of the details of Kyria’s petition.

“I see.” Adrienne raised her eyebrows, looking surprised. “All in favour?” She paused for the ayes. “All against?”

This time the ayes were clearly louder than the nays.

“All right, then. Cesare will oversee the preparation of a formal proposal for the registration of brothels, search powers for the City Guard, the establishment of safe houses, and any other matters deemed relevant for the improvement of conditions in the Dusk and the Docks. The proposal will be brought back to council for decision within three months.”

“Thank you, Empress,” said Bracchus, bowing and resuming his seat.

“I should rather thank you,” said Adrienne dryly. “Any other business? No? Then council is adjourned.”

“Do you go to tell your Lady Kyria the good news?” said Bracchus as they left the chamber.

“No, I’ll leave that to the Empress. Thank you, cousin.”

Bracchus inclined his head and said, “Until next time, Lord Valentin.”

Making his way back to the family wing, Valentin found he was walking some way behind Adrienne, near enough to follow her path. She hadn’t seen him, so he trailed behind her to one of the family parlours, where she found Lady Kyria.

Valentin hovered outside the door, as Adrienne said, “Mother, I’ve good news. Your proposal was approved by council today.”

“What?” said Kyria. There was a pause, then she said in a flat tone, “Did Lord Valentin raise it?”

“No, it was Bracchus Platinus. I thought he was going to bring up the Covenant again and I was going to have to have him thrown in the cells. But instead he said he had thought about your petition and that it merited further investigation. When I took the vote, two thirds voted in favour. Congratulations.”

“That is good news indeed,” said Kyria. “Tell me, how did Lord Valentin vote?”

“I… believe he abstained,” said Adrienne.

Sounding more cheerful, Kyria replied, “That sounds about right.”

“Mother, I know you don’t like Valentin, and didn’t want me to recall him after father died. But you have to admit he has been a loyal and astute adviser the last two years.”

Valentin slipped away, not wanting to hear Kyria’s reply. He found Cassius in the practice yard,  leaning against the rail and watching Felix spar with another boy under Tamlin’s supervision.

“Brother, I’m sorry,” he said.

Cassius looked over his shoulder. “Mm. Well, you were right, and I shouldn’t have brought up the past. Of course I wish to serve my Empress–” Valentin didn’t miss the slight emphasis Cassius put on the phrase “–and my family.  Although I do most earnestly hope that service doesn’t take the form of a dynastic marriage.”

“I will do what I can to prevent it,” said Valentin, leaning his elbows against the wood. “Goodness me, Felix does have some style with the blade, doesn’t he?”

“He already favours fancy footwork over honest skill,” said Cassius dryly, “rather like his father.”

“Be nice,” murmured Valentin, “he’s my cousin, after all.”

Snorting, Cassius whispered back, “Yes, and you’ve always been so good to my cousins.”

“Shh,” said Valentin, stifling a smirk. Lord Bracchus was a well-dressed middle aged man with brown hair pulled back from a widow’s peak and narrow blue eyes. It was easy for Valentin to recognise the shared blood between himself and Bracchus. Like his cousin, Bracchus came to his power by alliances and deals. He rarely showed his hand, and the less astute might dismiss him as having very little influence compared to militarism and territory of the coastal gentes Mereius and Solius. Emperor Herminius had married Thalassa Platinus, Bracchus’ aunt, because the Platini controlled resource-rich inland Jovan and could sway four or five of the other aura families.

Cassius disliked the man, and Valentin suspected that Bracchus was about to reopen the subject that irritated Cassius so much.

“Empress,” said Bracchus, dipping his head to Adrienne, who sat on a little throne on floor of the chamber. “I wish to bring to the attention of the council the manifold advantages that would accrue to Jovan were the Empress to sign her name to the covenant of slavery.”

There were some hisses, and someone behind Valentin muttered, “Oh, not this again,” while another called, “Sit down’ Bracchus, you’ve said your piece before.”

Bracchus held his hand up. “I appreciate that I am boring the council, but I have new information to bring to light. We have talked before of the manifold advantages to textile weavers and tanners of having slaves to do the jobs that proud, free Jovanis consider beneath them. I have told you before of the forests on my land that stand un-logged and the quarries un-mined for lack of men to work them. We have talked about the little pleasures that can only be given by a man or woman who is bonded to their master. Who here is not attracted to the thought of returning after a long day on our lands or in our villages to a trained body slave from Baetica, Ilas or Ce-Tulia?”

He paused and swepd his eyes over the council like an actor delivering a monologue. “I won’t bore you with these agruments again. My men have been out in Jovan gathering information and I beg to inform the council that I can now say with confidence that a majority of Jovanis support signing the Covenant. I encourage you to go back to your territories and ask your own folk. You will see that I am right.”

“Thank you, Lord Bracchus,” said Adrienne. “Did your men tell this majority of Jovanis that accession to the Covenant would mean that they might be sold into slavery one day, as spoils of a squabble between you, my respected aura, or to pay their debts? That if they are sold, their children would become property too? Freeborn Jovanis have a right as citizens of this Empire to remain so.”

There was rustling from the aura.

Adrienne continued: “I have heard your arguments, Lords Bracchus, and I will be happy to discuss with you any other assistance we can render for your forests and quarries. You are free to import slaves for your personal use, subject to the tariffs and regulations governing the trade in live chattels. But I have said my piece on the matter you raise. I will not repeat myself. Any further talk of introducing systemic slavery to Jovan is treason.”

Cassius’ was loudest among a few voices that called, “Here, here,” as Bracchus sat down. He didn’t look cowed; merely thoughtful.

Valentin considered him for a moment, then turned his attention to the next matter. At Adrienne’s nod, the doors to the council room were opened, and Lady Kyria entered. “Councillors,” said Adrienne,” my mother has asked to put a proposal before you. I will be guided by your advice in this matter.”

Lady Kyria stood beside her daughter’s throne and said, “I thank you for your attention.” Her back was straight as a pine trunk and her hands clasped in front of her. “I imagine it has been some time since any of you walked through the docks quarter of Monsilys and saw what goes on there.”

Valentin winced. Bad start, Kyria, he thought. Looking around, he could see offense on the faces of some of the councillors, and sly amusement on others.

Lady Kyria went on to describe the street of lanterns, to more sly amusement, and the plight of the prostitutes or, “unfortunate men and women”, who worked in the brothels and the lively trade in black market slaves that supplied these establishments. Then she went on to talk about the “unfortunate men and women” who sold themselves on the sea wall. “This trade goes on unregulated and unmonitored. The unfortunate men and women so employed must rely on the protection of thugs and bruisers who are just as likely to take their payment in trade,” she concluded. “The case is, I understand, the same in Rinnai and the other large cities of the Empire. I propose that all brothels be required to register and that the City Guard be empowered to conduct inspections for illegal or unwilling workers. I ask that houses be established in all cities where refuge may be sought by those who have been unfairly used in this vile trade.”

“Lady Kyria,” Isadora of gens Mereia said, “whores who run away from their establishment can already seek refuge in the temples.”

“Only if there’s space,” replied Kyria, “and only if they aren’t pregnant or infected with some foul disease. Often women who are with child are beaten or thrown down the stairs to try and shake it.”

Another aura said, “And so? The bringing of more shiftless, bastard children into the world is hardly a cause for the council to champion.”

“The women often die from this treatment, Lord Iatus,” said Kyria coldly.

Iatus shrugged.

Adrienne held up her hand and said, “You have heard my mother’s proposal. I will be guided by the council’s advice. I will now take a preliminary count. If carried by the ayes, further work will be done to put together a proposal for our consideration. Those in favour?” A few ayes were heard; Cassius among them. “Those against?” The noise was significant. Adrienne nodded. “The nays have it. On to our next piece of business.”

Kyria bowed her head and was escorted from the chamber. Valentin saw that her knuckles were clenched white.

Kyria sighed and rested her head on her hand. Valentin slithered over and sat down opposite. This provoked an immediate reaction; Kyria straightened up, folded her hands in her lap and transformed from a tired woman into a marble statue. “Lord Valentin,” she said coolly.

“You went about that wrongly,” said Valentin.

“Indeed,” said Kyria, crossing her legs at the ankle and turning her body away from him.

“It is a good cause, for the most part, but your target was too big. You lost them when you proposed to register brothels; half the people in that room went straight from that proposal to their own night-time activities in the Dusk or the Docks becoming known.”

“I care very little about protecting them if they choose to expose themselves thus,” said Kyria.

“A fair point of view, but hardly likely to bring their votes to your cause.” Valentin leaned forwards. He didn’t miss the subtle movement as Kyria leaned away from him.

“Of course, you went wrong before that.”

“Did I?” Kyria’s tone was so cold Valentin almost wished for his furs.

“Yes. Why did Adrienne bring this proposal to the council?”

Kyria looked down, then out the window. “I couldn’t convince her to approve it herself. She is young and has made too few mistakes to have sympathy for unfortunates.”

“That is an affliction from which we do not suffer, Lady Kyria.” Valentin quirked a self-mocking smile.

He did not get one in return. “How did you vote, Lord Valentin?”

Valentin raised and lowered one shoulder. “I abstained,” he said insouciantly.

“Why?”

“Because I knew the motion would be defeated.”

Looking at him directly for the first time since he had sat down, Kyria said, “And yet you would like to help.” She stood. “Excuse me.”

Valentin looked after her as she left the room and sighed.

“A quiet night, I think,” said Valentin. “I’ve a headache I can’t shake. Ever since council this morning.”

“Will you be at dinner?”

“No, I think not.”

“All right,” said Cassius, sounding a little surprised. “I will see you tomorrow, then.”

Valentin went straight to the stables and collected his horse. He rode to the Dusk, the small, thoughtful frown never leaving his forehead. He wrapped his arm around Elodia’s waist when she greeted him and gave her a distracted kiss. “My sweet saviour,” he said, “we are to have a guest tonight.”

“Not Lord Cassius?” said the girl.

“No,” said Valentin. “My cousin, Lord Bracchus Platinus, is coming for dinner. I have something I would like to discuss with him.”