The King's Blood

relief at his failure stampede us.”
    “First time that’s happened in history,” Daskellin said dryly. “We’ve had bad regencies and we’ve had bad kings. We’ve had decent kings with bad advisors and kings who ruled half drunk from a whorehouse while their advisors saw to it that the kingdom didn’t burn down. Speaking as Special Ambassador to Northcoast, I’m not pleased that we’re cutting ambassadors into small bits, but apart from that, I don’t see the difference.”
    “I do,” Dawson said. “Those were our bad kings. Our bad advisors. They were Antean. This time we’ve given ourselves into the power of foreigners.”
    Daskellin’s silence sounded like agreement. When he spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful.
    “Are you thinking that we’re in someone else’s war?”
    “I didn’t say that,” Dawson said, plucking the flesh off his chicken with his fingers. At home or at a feast, he would never have done so, but this was war, and he was on campaign. “I’m saying that if Palliako does owe his loyalty to these people, we’re just as badly off as if Maas had put his cousin from Asterilhold on our throne.”
    “I have the feeling that you’re asking something of me. I’m not sure what it is.”
    “I want you to sound them out. Not everyone, but the men Palliako brought to respectability. Broot and Veren. Men like that. Find out if they’re loyal to Palliako.”
    “Of course they are,” Daskellin said. “We all are. You are. We’re here marching and drilling instead of being at court. That’s the sign of loyalty.”
    Dawson shook his head.
    “I’ve come because the Lord Regent commanded it,” he said. “Not for Geder Palliako.”
    Daskellin laughed, and for a moment the crickets stopped their songs. He cut a slice from the apple and popped it into his mouth before pointing the blade at Dawson.
    “You’re making very fine distinctions. You should watch that or you’ll turn into a politician.”
    “Don’t be rude,” Dawson said. “There’s nothing to be done until the war’s finished, one way or the other. But as long as I am Lord Marshal, it’s my duty to cultivate the loyalty of the high houses. And when we’ve finished with Asterilhold, those priests have to be dealt with.”
    Canl Daskellin sighed.
    “You’re a difficult man to conspire with, Dawson. The last time we did this, it didn’t go well.”
    Dawson frowned, and then a slow, joyless smile spread across his lips.
    “Now I think you’re asking something of me ,” he said.
    “My youngest. Sanna. She’s taken a liking to the Lord Regent. Once we purge these cultist friends of his, I was thinking your boy Jorey might hold a ball. Make some introductions.”
    The words You want me as your daughter’s procurer? came to Dawson’s tongue, but he took another bite of chicken, and they stayed there.
    “Sanna seems a lovely girl,” Dawson said. “Whatever happens, I’d be pleased to help her in any way I can.”
    “Spoken like a diplomat,” Daskellin said. Dawson frowned, but didn’t reply. He would accept insult. For now, anyway. There was time. If he failed at Seref Bridge, there might be nothing but time. And blood and battles. Daskellin seemed to lose himself in the slow-rising smoke from the brazier. His dark brows were troubled.
    “One question for you,” he said. “Do you think it’s true? Do you think that King Lechan knew. That he approved?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “But do you think ?”
    “Yes.”
    Daskellin nodded.
    “I do too,” he said. “So for now, at least, your conspiracy of foreign priests is in the right.”
    T
    he morning smelled of wildflowers. Rain had fallen in the night, wetting the ground, and the morning sun had heated it. Mist hovered no higher than a walking man’s knees. The scouts had come to Dawson at first light, and so he was prepared for the sight. The river curved up from the south in a carved canyon of earth and stone. It ran high with the night’s rain, white spray rising almost to the pale strip of jade that spanned it. On the far shore, the keep was as round as a drum, as high as three men, and made from grey stone and mortar the color of old blood. On the Antean shore— his shore—the building was square and made of chalk-white brick. The arrow slits looked down on the dragon’s road as it entered the keep and as it left. The merlons were narrow, with barely enough room for an archer to stand and fire and step back.
    The banners of