The King's Blood

at once. She wasn’t a child or one of Sandr’s easily impressed stage followers. Something had happened once if they chose to agree that it did, and nothing had if they said it hadn’t. Going to court as if he would have time, interest, or attention for her was idiocy. And still, he had talked of allowing the bank to open a branch, so perhaps wanting to dress well in his presence wasn’t entirely dim.
    Still, she put on the bracelet before she stepped out to the gathering. Not for Geder or Paerin Clark or anyone else. She just liked it.
    The heat of summer was losing its grip on the city. The sky overhead was blue, but not rich, and she wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Smit’s eventual rain came in the next day. She went out to the kitchen where the lowborn among the party were waiting. Elsewhere in the mansion, Baron Watermarch and his wife and daughters were making themselves ready, and no one would be leaving the courtyard until the family was prepared. Fortunately, the cook had put a plate of biscuits and cheese out for the guests to eat before they left.
    Paerin Clark was in a simple tunic and hose with a narrow leather belt. Seeing him, she felt more comfortable with her own decision. He smiled and offered a half bow, which she returned, reaching for a biscuit as she did.
    “Well, this should be interesting, at least,” he said. “It isn’t every journey we begin with the celebration of a war hero and stay for his execution.”
    “Do we know anything about him?” she asked around a mouthful of salt and butter with just enough flour to hold it together. Whatever shortcomings the hospitality might suffer, Daskellin’s cooks spared little and the results were lovely. “I’ve met him several times. He was important to putting Palliako on the throne and he’s been swimming-deep in court intrigue since I met him. Rigid thinker, no use for us or our kind.”
    “I’ll keep my mourning short,” she said. “Anything I should be watching for?”
    “I don’t know,” Paerin said. “Listen to what people say about the insurrection. If Kalliam has partisans, this will be the time to catch them upset.”
    “I will,” she said. “I would have thought that there would be more punishments. Kalliam wasn’t the only house involved in the thing.”
    “No, it wasn’t, but it was the leader. And some of the others made peace. Kalliam was captured. It makes him the extreme case.”
    The door opened and one of the junior footmen leaned in.
    “The lord and lady are walking out,” he said. “Come on along or we’ll be left behind.”
    “And here I thought we were waiting for them,” Cithrin said.
    “Noble blood flows by different rules. Best to nod and bow and be patient.”
    “And piss before you leave,” Cithrin said sourly.
    “Yes,” Paerin said with a smile. “And that.”
    Canl Daskellin and his family rode a palanquin with a dozen bearers while Cithrin and Paerin followed at a polite distance in a cart pulled by horses. As they came near the Kingspire, the magnitude of the crowd became clear to her. Every street and alley was packed with the powerful. Their servants shouted and fought, pushing for advantage and arguing precedence and points of etiquette like fishermen coming in from the dock shouted about nets. Their own cart didn’t come near the great tower itself, but drew aside perhaps a quarter mile away and stopped.
    “My thanks,” Paerin Clark called to the carter and tossed a copper coin through the air to him. Cithrin slid down at his side.
    “Walking the rest of the way?” she said.
    “As befits our station,” he said, offering his arm.
    The architecture of the chamber was marvelous. No matter where people stood, no matter how tall the person before them was, the view of the raised dais at the end was clear. Geder sat on a plush chair and Aster at his side. Cithrin felt a passing urge to wave to them. Seeing the pair of them together gave everything the feeling of theater. Though of course that wasn’t true. Geder wasn’t simply playing at Lord Regent, that was who and what he was. Or perhaps playing at it and being it were the same thing.
    The priest Basrahip stood to the side, his head bowed as if listening. Cithrin had the irrational sense that he was aware of every conversation in the hall, however quietly spoken.
    “You see the woman on the far left in grey?” Paerin said softly enough that the words were almost lost in the murmur of a hundred small