He didn’t say the difficulty of what, because someone might be scrying on them, but now she knew this was why it was going to be hard to communicate with Kordas. Isla’s Mindspeech was only one-way, and wouldn’t reach that far in any event. Yes, both Kordas and Isla were mages and could mutually scry each other, but they had to establish a time, and they had to be sure neither of them was being scryed on.

“But this means the people on the Regatta boats lose two whole candlemarks of daylight going to the Capital,” she said. Which was a reasonable thing to say, and if anyone was scrying them, would give a reason for why they were discussing time changes.

Jonaton shrugged, pursed up his mouth, and in an ever-so-slightly-prissy way said, “And that is a small price to pay to serve the Emperor.” Then added in a more normal tone, “It’s also why people get up long before dawn to line up at the Gates for the barge parade. You’ve got a choice, really. If you’re an early riser, you get into place soonest, you have a good chance your barge will make the crossing in the early morning, and you get home before too much of the day is gone. Remember, you get those two candlemarks back when you get home. Or if you are counting on an early rush of boats, you wait until late afternoon, you cross before sunset at the Capital, and you’re back home in time for supper.”

“And if you don’t give a shit, like me, you get up, you stock your boat with beer, you get in line, and you get home when you get home,” said Hakkon, taking the apple out of Jonaton’s hand and eating it, seeds and all.

“Hey!” Jonaton objected. Hakkon reached past him, grabbed another pair of apples from the bowl, kissed one, and gave it to him.

Jonaton took it, the scowl on his face turning to a smile at the kiss.

“Did you know the world is round?” Delia demanded of Hakkon.

“Is it?” he responded.

“Of course you know. I’ve told you often enough!” Jonaton scolded.

Hakkon shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “Does that make the wheat ripen faster? Does it keep my horse from throwing a shoe? No? Then it doesn’t make any difference to me, and there’s no reason for me to think about it.”

Delia turned back to Jonaton. “Then why do the seasons happen?” she demanded. “Why do the days get longer, then shorter, then longer again? How—”