The King's Blood

to be asking why you are not on the field,” Clara said. “It would have spoken better of you to ask when victory was less certain.”
    “I have written to the Lord Regent several times,” Issandrian said. “I haven’t yet received the courtesy of a reply.”
    “I see.”
    “We have disagreed profoundly on some issues, but your husband and I have always been loyal to the Severed Throne,” Issandrian said. “I didn’t want to bring Asterilhold into the conflict any more than he courted Northcoast. But like him, I wasn’t working alone. And I…”
    “And you see Sir Klin being given the chance to redeem his name while you are kept in Camnipol,” Clara said.
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t know anything about it,” she said. “I don’t take part in those decisions or discuss them with Dawson.”
    “If you could ask… Just ask—”
    “Sound out my husband on your behalf?” she asked with a smile. “Gather information and report it back to you? You can’t think that.”
    Issandrian paled, and then chuckled ruefully.
    “You make it sound more than it is,” he said.
    “No, I only see the same thing from another angle,” she said. “I will tell my husband you came, and what we said. I will tell him you seemed sincere because you do. And if he wishes to converse with you about this, I won’t argue against it.”
    “Baroness Osterling, I could ask nothing more.”
    “You could ask,” she said. “But you couldn’t have it. And now I must ask that you go. I have family here.”
    Issandrian practically sprang to his feet, his face and voice rich with apology.
    “I hadn’t known that, my lady, or I wouldn’t have intruded. I owe you even greater thanks, it seems. If I can ever be of service to you, only let me know.”
    “Lord Issandrian?” she said. He paused. “My husband hates you, but he respects you as well. It isn’t so bad a position to be in.”
    Issandrian nodded soberly and made his exit. Clara walked back out toward the garden slowly. Her impression from Dawson’s letters was that Sir Klin wasn’t at all enjoying his time winning back his honor. And, in fact, that Palliako had gone out of his way to make the poor man’s time in the field as hellish as possible. She wondered whether she should write to Dawson about this or wait for his return.
    In the garden, Elisia and the nurse were still by the pond, splashing and playing. Sabiha sat alone at the table. Clara’s pipe was in the girl’s hand.
    “Where did you find it?” Clara asked, taking the little clay bowl and stem from the girl’s hand. There was already a hard wad of tobacco stuffed into it, ready for the fire.
    “In your withdrawing room,” Sabiha said. “Just as you thought. I’ve been listening to your grandson. He’s a beautiful child.”
    “He is. Takes after his mother that way. She was always a pretty child, even when she was growing half a hand a year and looked like a blade of grass come to life, she wore it well. And he doesn’t sleep any more than she did. I’ll tell you a secret. Watching your children struggle with the same things you did when they were babes is a grandmother’s revenge.”
    Sabiha smiled. It wasn’t obvious that she’d been weeping. Only a little redness about the eyes and a tiny, fading blotchiness at the throat. The girl was lucky that way. Being able to hide tears was a gift. But now a fresh shining came to her. Clara pursed her lips.
    “Sometimes,” Sabiha said, “and it isn’t often, but sometimes I think of how the world could have been if I hadn’t been Lord Skestinin’s daughter.”
    “Ah, but you always were,” Clara said, trying to keep the girl from going down the path she was headed. The girl wouldn’t be turned.
    “I know. It’s just there are freedoms women have when they aren’t what we are. There are struggles too, I understand that. But there are ways to shape a life even within those, and then maybe—”
    “No,” Clara said.
    Sabiha’s tears welled, but did not fall. Not yet.
    “No,” Clara said again, more gently. “You can’t think of that child. You can’t even wish for him back. It isn’t fair to ask everyone else to forget and only you remember. It doesn’t work like that.”
    “I miss him, though,” Sabiha whispered. “I can’t just stop missing him.”
    “You can stop showing that you do. Jorey has risked a great deal to give you another life. Another beginning. If you didn’t want it, you should have refused him. Accepting