The King's Blood

with a soft, almost shadowless light and the heat of a smith’s forge. The room was built in the shape of an X with the high table in the center on a massive turntable that revolved twice an hour. Dawson, Aster, and Basrahip sat nearest him, his personal guard kneeling at the ready behind. Lord Ternigan and his son sat to Basrahip’s right looking pleased and amiable. Canl Daskellin and his daughter Sanna sat to Kalliam’s right, farther from Geder. The woman kept catching his eye, and he didn’t know whether to smile at her or look away. In the heat of the summer, all court fashion tended toward lighter clothing, and the sheath of silk Sanna Daskellin wore made him wish she was sitting closer and that she hadn’t come at all both at the same time.
    “I’ve some people I’d like you to meet, Lord Regent,” Daskellin said as the table made its slow revolution. “I came too late to help with the war, but my conversations in North-coast were very interesting. I’d go so far as to say that the whole world’s interest is on you these days.”
    “I don’t see why,” Geder said. “I mean, the war wasn’t my choosing. That lies at Lechan’s feet. And winning so handily was all Dawson and Basrahip.”
    “Minister Basrahip?” Daskellin said, shooting a glance at Dawson. The elder Kalliam’s face was ice and stone. Chagrin flashed through Geder’s heart as he saw the insult he’d unintentionally delivered.
    “As spiritual guide and comfort,” Geder said, the words coming too quickly, bumping into one another on his lips. “The victory was Kalliam’s.”
    The urge to go on, to complain about his failed orders of execution, pressed at him, but he held back. There was time for that conversation later. He’d need to call a larger council for that, and no doubt Daskellin and Kalliam would have more than enough time to talk over how best to go about assuring Antea’s permanent safety from its enemies then.
    “I see you brought your banker,” Kalliam said. Geder was confused for a moment, then realized that the comment had been meant for Daskellin. “I’m surprised that you’d include him in a revel in my name.”
    “Really?” Daskellin replied. His voice was as warm as before, but there was something underneath it. It was like watching the afternoon’s duels all over again, except with words and subtle meanings in place of blades. “And here I thought the two of you had parted on good terms. He certainly gave the impression that his time at Osterling Fells was pleasant enough.”
    “I didn’t cut his hands off,” Dawson said.
    “He didn’t lie to you,” Daskellin said.
    Basrahip’s calm, enigmatic smile and deceptively sleepy eyes gave no reaction to anything the men said. Geder wondered what it would be like to hear the truth and deceptions in what the men said, and whether it would make the conversation clearer or more obscure.
    “Who are we talking about?” Geder asked.
    “Paerin Clark,” Daskellin said. “He’s the son-in-law of Komme Medean of the Medean bank. He’s very powerful, though not from noble blood.”
    “That is what they will write on your tomb, old friend,” Dawson said. “ His friends were powerful, though not from noble blood. ”
    “Have I done something to offend you, Kalliam?” Daskellin asked.
    Geder shot a glance at Aster and Basrahip. The boy seemed frightened by the animosity between the two men, but the priest was quiescent. Dawson’s face was dark with blood, but then he pressed his lips thin and shook his head.
    “No,” he said. “I’m feeling a bit anxious this evening. Nothing to do with you. All apologies.”
    “At least we didn’t need to break your revel for a formal duel.”
    “No,” Dawson said. “Not for that.”
    “Perhaps I could meet this banker?” Geder asked, grasping for something to turn the subject of the conversation. “Which one is he?”
    Daskellin pointed out a pale man in green velvet sitting between an enormously fat man in the formal clothing of a Borjan knight and a remarkably thin woman so fair-haired as to be almost white. Cinnae, but also not. Daskellin’s gaze followed his.
    “She’s Cithrin bel Sarcour. Magistra of their branch in Porte Oliva,” he said. “Very new to the bank, and apparently something of a wild talent.”
    “Why are they here?” Geder asked, and then when he heard how the words sounded, “I mean, they’re welcome of course, but are they on some business in Antea?”
    “They’re