The King's Blood

their ears. There was no love so pure as a dog’s for its master.
    He thought of going to Clara before he saw his son, but her rooms were at the farthest end of the mansion and his hips ached from walking. He knew, anyway, what Jorey wanted to talk about. He’d been expecting the conversation since Clara had told him to. Dawson commanded his dogs with a gesture, and they sat as he went into his study and closed the door behind him.
    Jorey stood at the window, the afternoon light spilling across his face. It occurred to Dawson again how much the boy could look like his mother. Not in the shape of the jaw so much as the eyes and the color of his hair. It seemed so recent that Jorey had been a thin-limbed boy climbing trees and playing swords with fallen branches. He was broad across the shoulders now, his face serious. And the swords he wielded cut.
    “Father,” Jorey said.
    “Son,” Dawson replied, feeling the just-conquered tears struggling behind his eyes. “You’re looking well.”
    “I’m feeling… I need to ask your permission for something. And it may not be something you like hearing.”
    Dawson sat with a grunt and then immediately wished he’d thought to call for a drink before he had. Not wine. Not today. But a cup of water would have been welcome.
    “You want to marry the Skestinin girl,” Dawson said.
    “I do.”
    “Even though she brings no honor to the family.”
    “She does, though. The world may not see it, but it’s there. She did something stupid once, and she carries it with her now. But she is a good woman. She won’t embarrass you.”
    Dawson licked his lips. There were a dozen objections and concerns he’d had when Clara first explained who Sabiha Skestinin was, and more that had grown up and been trimmed back only to grow again since they’d come to Camnipol. Who was the father of the offending child, and was Jorey willing to have that man, whoever he was, hold that bit of scandal over him in court for the rest of his life? Wouldn’t Barriath, who served under Skestinin in the fleet, be the better match? How could he trust the girl to keep her sex in harness when she’d already shown she couldn’t control it unwed?
    “Do you still dream about Vanai? The fire?”
    “I do,” Jorey said, his expression grim.
    “Is that guilt the reason you want a fallen woman for your wife? She’s something you can save?”
    Jorey didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
    “It would be wiser if you didn’t make this alliance,” Dawson said. “The girl’s history shows what she is. We already have connections to Skestinin, so the family gains very little by it. Your brothers aren’t married yet, and it seems odd to have the youngest marry first. When my father came to me and told me who I’d be wed to, I was grateful to him for his guidance and wisdom. I didn’t bring some stray home and beg him to keep it.”
    “I see,” Jorey said.
    “Do you?”
    “Yes, Father.”
    “If I tell you now to go to the girl and break things off, will you do it? Out of loyalty to me and to this family?”
    “Is that what you’re saying, sir?”
    Dawson smiled, and then laughed.
    “You wouldn’t,” he said. “You’d go to your mother and arrange some way to force my hand or elope to Borja or some other idiocy. I know you, boy. I’ve changed your diapers. Don’t think you can fool me.”
    Something shy and tentative plucked at the corners of Jorey’s mouth. He stepped forward.
    “Go,” Dawson said. “Take my permission, and do what you’d have done without it. And take my blessing too. She’s a lucky girl, my new daughter, to have a husband like you.”
    “Thank you, Father.”
    “Jorey,” Dawson said, catching his son at the doorway. “The world’s briefer than we think, and less certain. Don’t wait to have children.”

Cithrin
     
    T
    he Stormcrow was one of the first ships Cithrin had accepted an insurance contract against, and it took time to put the story together of how she was lost. She was a three-masted roundboat, deep-bellied and well crewed. The captain, a Dartinae man whose eyes glowed green rather than the usual yellow, had walked Cithrin across the deck when the contract had first been made. She still remembered the pride in his voice. He’d told how many times the ship had made the blue-water trade to Far Syramys before he’d settled into his retirement. No more the long, landless weeks navigating by stars and hoping for the distant coasts. Now he was making