The Tyrant's Law (Dagger and the Coin)

Geder,” Basrahip said mournfully.
    “If you would like,” Daskellin said, “I can draw up a list of men who would make good generals for the kingdom, and we can—”
    “No,” Geder said, rounding on him. “No. I am done with giving power over to generals and counselors and great men. Do you see what’s happened when I’ve done that? They turn. They all turn. I don’t want any more generals.”
    His chest was working like a bellows, and his face felt hot even in the winter wind. Canl Daskellin nodded as if what he’d said made perfect sense, then paused and held out his open hand, the palm up like he was offering something.
    “What do you want?” he asked, and his voice was gentle, calm, and polite. To judge from it, they might have been sitting leather couches in the Fraternity of the Great Bear rather than standing over the corpse of the Lord Marshal in the mud of a half-conquered battlefield. “If not generals to lead the armies or counselors, then who do you want?”
    A friend , Geder thought. I want a friend.
    A re you certain you won’t come with us?” Daskellin asked. “There is still time to catch up with the hunt if we join them at Masonhalm.”
    “No,” Geder said. “You go on ahead. I’ll join you before the hunt’s over. Only not yet.”
    Night made the gates of Kiaria more foreboding. The few fires that guttered in the camps seemed small in the face of the mountain that loomed above them, and the sky that rose above that. A half moon spilled its milky light over the valley. Dragons had been here once. Had fought here. Had built a massive fortress against each other that now the last remnant of their race had fled to. It made sense if the Timzinae truly weren’t humans that they would fall back to the old defenses, the old strategies. It was the size of the thing that overwhelmed him. The war between the goddess and the dragons stretched back farther than history, and now he was supposed to end it. He was surrounded by false friends and duplicity, conspiracy and violence, and he was the one who was going to lead the world to peace? It seemed impossible.
    But still, he had to try. What would they say about him if he didn’t?
    “This is still hostile country,” Daskellin said.
    “I have guards.”
    “Guards can be overwhelmed,” Daskellin said. “If you must go south, take a real force of soldiers with you.”
    “They have to keep the siege.”
    “There’s enough,” Daskellin said. “Nothing of substance is going to happen here before the new Lord Marshal comes.”
    Geder leaned back in his chair. A falling star streaked through the sky, bloomed briefly, and was gone. A servant came and quietly spirited away the remnants of their dinner.
    “All right,” Geder said. “If it will make you happy.”
    “Thank you,” Daskellin said. “Who do you think sent those letters?”
    “I don’t know,” Geder said. “But whoever it was, they didn’t have to. It’s something to have an ally, even if I don’t know who they are as yet.”
    “Well. That’s one way to look at it, I suppose,” Daskellin said.
    Geder felt the urge to ask what he meant by that, but the effort seemed too much. The violence of the day was weighing on him, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Or not easily, at least.
    “I think it’s time I retire for the night,” Geder said, drawing himself up. His fingers were numb and his nose was running from the chill. And the army had been keeping its place out here for months. Geder knew it was uncharitable of him, but he couldn’t help being grateful that he got to leave while they stayed on. But at least the cold had frozen the mud. He took a few steps, then paused and looked back.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “You are always welcome,” Daskellin said. “Would it be rude to ask what exactly you were thanking me for?”
    Geder shrugged.
    “Not betraying me, I suppose.”
    Inside the warmth and comfort of the tent that had recently been Ternigan’s, Geder called for paper and pen and sent for a courier. The servants brought him blankets and pillows and a butter lamp with a tall flame that filled the room with the scent of smoke. For a long time, he stared at the page, uncertain how to proceed.
Cithrin—
I know you have not written back to me, and I understand. You’re busy, and I am too. But I am weary, my love. I am tired to my bones, and I find I need the company of someone who cares for me. Someone I can trust. I am writing you now from the siege