“You should cease this conversation soon,” Star advised. “The mages are waking.”

“Three days,” said Kordas. “Good luck with the messenger.”

“Three days,” confirmed Isla, and he waved his hand to end the scrying.

Kordas picked up the mirror and hid it again, and glanced over at Star. “Did the Record Keeper really suggest that?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. The Record Keeper has been studying humans the longest of any of us, and those here at the Palace around the Emperor the most. The Emperor is very fond of salacious information, and even fonder of using it. You may be sure he will wish to hear every possible detail to use in humiliating you and tormenting you. He has done this before, many times.”

“Why?” Kordas asked, unable to help himself. This seemed petty, for someone as powerful as the Emperor.

“This one does not know. The Record Keeper does not know. We can only observe. Our most educated guess is that the Emperor is essentially an awful person.”

Kordas pondered that as he went back to bed, exhausted enough that he wouldn’t need to feign sleeping late. The scrying had taken more out of him this time—possibly because there had been substantial emotional content to it. Possibly because it was still all coming out of him, and he was not about to trust any source of power around here but himself. He might not be “in love” with Isla, and he knew very well that Hakkon had no interest whatsoever in women, but facing the prospect of being lambasted in public as a cuckold was exceedingly unpleasant.

And how was he going to respond to that? He certainly wouldn’t have to imitate being humiliated. Even though he knew it wasn’t true. Even though if Isla had wanted to take a lover, he probably wouldn’t care. Well, he would if they were still married, but if she was truly in love with someone, he’d be perfectly willing to have the bond annulled.

He could only decide, ugly as it was going to be, that he’d have to play at feeling betrayed. Oh, he could pretend not to believe it, but he was pretty certain that when the Emperor or his sycophants pulled this one out of the bag for his humiliation, they’d have lots of evidence he couldn’t deny. And doing something like shrugging and saying, “Well, arranged marriages, don’t you know. I have my own little playthings put where she can’t find them,” wouldn’t give the Emperor what he wanted. No, the Emperor wanted amusement out of his pet bumpkin, and the best amusement for the Emperor seemed to be mental torture. They were getting close to the Regatta, and the closer they got, the more likely it was they’d be discovered. At all costs, the eyes of the Emperor had to be diverted from Valdemar proper, lest the leakage of people and resources be seen.