The Dragon's Path

mother’s reach.”
    Jorey’s face had gone pale. Dawson leaned forward, his hand on the boy’s knee as he had since the child had been old enough to sit. Dawson felt a moment’s sorrow that that thin-limbed boy was gone, and this moment—this conversation so like one he had had with his own father once—was part of that child’s passage out of the world. The child had to go and make way for the man. It gave meaning to the loss, and made it bearable. That was the most Dawson could offer.
    “Anninfort rebelled against the throne,” he said, “and so it had to fall. And in order that it fall, it had to know despair. The ones they brought were on the edge of starvation. They wouldn’t have lived. If the children we killed—the children
I
killed—brought the end a week sooner than it would have come otherwise, then I did the right thing. And I suffered then as you are suffering now.”
    “I didn’t know that,” Jorey said.
    “I didn’t tell you. Men don’t put their burdens on theirchildren. I didn’t tell your mother. It isn’t hers to bear. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
    “Vanai was different. There was no need for it.”
    Dawson opened his mouth to say something—hopefully something wise and comforting—but he felt the thoughts come into place with an almost physical click. Vanai. Issandrian. The armed mercenaries riding to Camnipol under the thin claim of honoring Prince Aster. The occupying force returning from the south, Geder Palliako at its head.
    “Ah,” Dawson said.
    “Father?”
    “Where is Palliako? Is he here?”
    “No. With the men. A week behind me, perhaps?”
    “Too far. We need him back sooner than that.”
    Dawson was on his feet again. He threw open the door, shouting for Coe. The huntsman might have been waiting for him. The first instructions were simple enough: find the others. Not only Canl Daskellin, but all the half dozen men who’d thrown their lots with him. Time was short, and victory uncertain. Coe didn’t question, only saluted and vanished. When he turned back, Jorey looked bewildered.
    Dawson raised his hand, stopping the questions before they came.
    “I need one last favor of you before you rest, my boy. I’m sorry to ask, but I believe the fate of the throne rests on it.”
    “Anything.”
    “Bring me Geder Palliako. And quickly.”
    “I will.”
    “And Jorey? Vanai’s death may have saved us.”
    H ardly an hour passed before Dawson’s guests arrived. In addition to Odderd and Daskellin, the Earl of Rivermarch and Baron Nurring came. The others weren’t at home, andCoe had gone back out searching for them. This, however, was enough. Five men, all commanding the loyalty of high families and strategic lands, sat or stood or, in Canl Daskellin’s case, paced restlessly around the back wall. They still wore the brocade and embroidered hats they’d sported at Issandrian’s parade. Clara had brought in two servant girls bearing a tray of water flavored with cucumbers and rounds of twice-baked cheeses that still stood untouched by the wall.
    In the time between the courier’s arrival at Simeon’s side and now, a dozen rumors had already spread. Dawson could see the uncertainty on the faces before him, and he could feel it on the breeze. His own sense of urgency was like a live thing crawling on his back. If this were to be done, it had to be done quickly, before the court had time to decide what the news meant. Before Simeon had the time.
    Like a priest before his congregation, Dawson lifted his hands.
    “The slaughter of—” he began, then stopped. “The
sacrifice
of Vanai has come like a torch in our darkest hour. And the salvation of the Severed Throne is at hand.”
    The silence was profound.
    “You’ve lost your mind,” Daskellin said.
    “Let him talk,” the Earl of Rivermarch said. Dawson nodded his gratitude.
    “Consider this. Geder Palliako is known to have been at odds with Sir Alan Klin, one of Issandrian’s closest allies, almost from the beginning. He managed to supplant Klin as protector of Vanai—”
    “
He
managed?” Daskellin said.
    “—and rather than use his position to gain wealth or play court politics, he made a decision. A brave and principled decision.”
    “Geder Palliako,” Daskellin said, running a hand throughhis hair, “is a buffoon we lifted up in order to embarrass Issandrian by making the occupation of Vanai a bog. He’s an untried youth whose entire military experience has been taking