The King's Blood

composure, “or where you’ve heard it from.”
    “You see now, that’s truth,” Geder said.
    “But I assure you—I swear to you—Asterilhold had no designs on the young prince’s life.”
    Again, the flicker of eyes, and the priest’s subtle refusal. Dawson wanted to leap to his feet but he seemed rooted in his chair. Geder seemed to calm, but his heavy-lidded eyes were dark and merciless. When he spoke, his voice was almost conversational.
    “You don’t get to laugh at me.” He turned to the captain of his guards. “Take Lord Ashford into custody. I want the executioner to have his hands off by nightfall and ready to send back to Asterilhold.”
    The guard’s calm façade only broke for a moment, and then he saluted. Ashford was on his feet, all etiquette forgotten.
    “Are you out of your mind?” he shouted. “Who in hell do you think you are? This isn’t how this works! I’m ambassador .”
    The guard captain put a hand on Ashford’s shoulder.
    “You have to come with me now, my lord.”
    “You cannot do this!” Ashford shouted. Fear fueled the words.
    “I can,” Geder said.
    Ashford fought, but not for long. When the door had closed behind him, the high men of Antea looked at each other. For a long time, no one spoke.
    “My lords,” Geder Palliako, Lord Regent of Imperial Antea said, “we are at war.”
    D
    awson sat on his couch, the leather creaking under him. Jorey and Barriath were in chairs opposite him, and his favorite hunting dog whined at his knee, forcing her damp nose under his palm.
    “He was right before,” Barriath said. “About Feldin Maas. He was right. He knows things. Maybe… maybe he isn’t wrong. Jorey? You served with him.”
    “I did,” Jorey said, and the dread in the words was enough.
    “We can’t have done this,” Dawson said. “I can’t believe we’ve done this.”
    “It isn’t all us,” Barriath said. “If Palliako’s right—”
    “I don’t mean the war. I don’t even mean violating the sanctity of the ambassador. The man was a disrespectful, pompous ass. I don’t mean any of that.”
    “Then what, Father?” Jorey asked.
    In Dawson’s memory, the huge priest’s head moved, a finger’s width one way, and then the other, as Palliako watched. There was no doubt in his mind. The priest had been telling Palliako what to do, and Geder had done it. Simeon had died, and they had given the Severed Throne to a religious zealot who wasn’t even a subject of the crown. The thought nauseated him. If he’d woken in the morning to find the seas had floated into the air and the fish flying where the birds had been, it wouldn’t have been more upsetting than this. Everything was out of joint. The proper order of the kingdom was shattered.
    “We have to make this right,” he said. “We have to fix this.”
    A scratch came at the door, and it opened a handspan. A frightened-looking footman leaned in.
    “There’s a guest, my lords,” he said.
    “I’m not receiving them,” Dawson said.
    “It’s Lord Regent Palliako, my lord,” the footman said.
    Dawson tried to catch his breath.
    “Show… show him in.”
    “Should we go?” Barriath asked.
    “No,” Dawson said, though the proper answer was likely yes. He wanted his family with him.
    Geder came in still wearing the same red velvet, though the golden circlet was gone. He looked as he had before, a small man with a tendency toward weight. Uncertain smile, apologetic before he had anything to apologize for.
    “Lord Kalliam,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me. Jorey. Barriath. Good to see you both too. I hope Sabiha’s well?”
    “She’s fine, Lord Regent,” Jorey said, and Palliako waved it away.
    “Please. Geder. You can always call me Geder. We’re friends.”
    “All right,” Jorey said.
    Palliako sat, and Dawson realized he and his boys hadn’t risen. They should have.
    “I’ve come to ask a favor,” Palliako said. “You see, I served under Ternigan? And of course Alan Klin, and the others, served under him. Everything about Vanai was badly done. My part too, though I don’t like to say it, could probably have been done better.”
    You are a traitor to your crown and the memory of my friend , Dawson thought.
    “Anyway, the short of it is, I don’t trust him. You and your family have always been kind to me. You’ve been my patron, so to speak, when I really didn’t know my way around court. So now that I’m in need of a Lord Marshal, on the one hand it makes