The Dragon's Path

table and mouth, it was clear Feldin Maas had heard it too.
    “All of this is tribute from your man in Vanai?” Simeon asked with a forced casualness.
    “No, Majesty. Most has been in my family for years.”
    “Ah, good. That squares better with what I’d heard aboutKlin and his taxes. For a moment, I thought you’d been holding out on me.”
    Maas’s face went pale. He lowered the wineglass to the table. Dawson took a bite of fish and decided that perhaps Clara was right. The lemon did add something to it. King Simeon had just joked that Klin’s gifts from the conquered city wouldn’t be enough to decorate a feast. The tone was light, the only response was laughter, and Sir Alan Klin would be back in Antea by the thaw.
    “I hope you’ll excuse me,” Dawson said. “Nature.”
    “We understand,” Feldin Maas said, biting the words. “Every bladder gets weak with age.”
    Dawson spread his hands in a gesture that could be read as an acknowledgment of the jest or as a provocation.
Do your worst, little man. Do your worst.
    By the time Dawson reached the edge of the feasting hall, Coe was silently walking behind him. In the wide stone hallway that led to the private retiring rooms, Dawson stopped and Coe stopped with him. It wasn’t long before Canl Daskellin, Baron of Watermarch, appeared, silhouetted by the light from the feast.
    “Well,” Daskellin said.
    “Yes,” Dawson said.
    “Come with me,” Daskellin said. Together the two men walked to a private retiring room. Coe didn’t remain behind, but he gave a greater distance between himself and his betters. Dawson wondered what would happen if he ordered Coe away. On one hand, the huntsman could hardly refuse. On the other, strictly speaking, Coe answered to Clara. Awkward position for the man. Dawson’s mischievous spirit was tempted to try it and see which way the huntsman jumped, but Canl Daskellin spoke and brought his mind back to other matters.
    “I’ve managed to catch Ternigan’s ear. His loyalty’s with us.”
    “Until the tide turns,” Dawson said.
    “Yes, and so we need to act quickly. I believe we can call the candidate for Klin’s replacement. But…”
    “I know.”
    “I’ve spoken with our friends in Camnipol. Count Hiren would have been the consensus choice if he’d lived.”
    “Issandrian’s cousin? What did they like about him,” Dawson said.
    “Estranged cousin,” Daskellin said. “But dead cousin in any case. His greatest strength was that he had no love for Issandrian and no direct ties to any of us.”
    Dawson spat.
    “How is it we’ve come so quickly to the place where we don’t want to seat one of our enemies
or
one of our own.”
    “It’s the danger of conspiracy,” Daskellin said. “Breeds a certain distrust.”
    Dawson crossed his arms. In his heart, he wanted his son Jorey in the prince’s chair. He could rely on his own blood in a way that mere politics could never attain. Which was, of course, why he’d sworn against it. Vanai had to be denied to Issandrian. But it couldn’t be taken by any single member of Dawson’s still-fresh alliance without threatening its fracture. Dawson had foreseen the problem. He had his proposal ready.
    “Hear me out, Canl. Vanai was always a small piece in this,” Dawson said carefully.
    “True.”
    “With Klin gone, Issandrian’s lost the tribute, but the city is still his project. Maas agitated for taking it. Klin fought for it, and even controlled the city until now. If we don’t putsomeone in power who is identified with us, it will remain Issandrian’s in the general opinion.”
    “But who of ours can we put in?”
    “No one,” Dawson said, “that’s what I mean. We can’t take it from Issandrian in the mind of the court. But now we can control what it says about him. What if the governance of the city were to become a catastrophe? Lose the city to incompetence, and Issandrian’s reputation suffers along with it.”
    Daskellin stopped. Between the dimness of the light spilling from the feast chamber and the darkness of the man’s complexion, Dawson couldn’t read his expression. He pressed on.
    “My youngest son is there,” Dawson said. “He’s been sending reports. Lerer Palliako’s son is in Vanai. Geder, his name is. Klin’s been using him to do the unpopular work. No one likes or respects him.”
    “Why not? Is he dim?”
    “Worse than dim, one of those men who
only
knows what he’s read in books. He’s the kind that reads