But he can’t, Benjamin told himself grimly, and neither can I, and we both have duties. Damn it, I don’t want to intrude on his grieving, but I can’t let that weigh with me right now.

“I think you do know, Howard,” he said after a moment, his voice very level, and dark color flushed Clinkscales’ cheeks. “I deeply regret the events and considerations which require me to bring it up, yet I have no choice but to deal with them. And neither do you, My Lord Regent.”

“I—” Clinkscales’ head jerked at the title, as if recoiling from a blow. He looked at his Protector for a brief eternity, and then the fury waned in his eyes, leaving only the grief. In that instant he looked every day of his age, and his nostrils flared as he drew a deep, painful breath. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said softly. “Yes. I… do know. Your Chancellor—” Clinkscales’ lips twitched in a brief parody of a smile as he nodded at his old friend and colleague “—has been prodding at me for weeks.”

“I know.” Benjamin’s voice had softened as well, and he met Clinkscales’ gaze levelly, hoping that the old man saw the matching pain and loss in his own eyes.

“Yes, well…” Clinkscales looked away again, then straightened his shoulders and heaved himself up out of his chair. He took his staff in both hands, crossed to the desk, held it out before him on open palms, and spoke the formal phrases he had hoped never to have to speak.

“Your Grace,” he said in a quiet voice, “my Steadholder has fallen, leaving no heir of her body. As her Steading was given into her hands from yours, so the responsibility to govern it in her absence was given into my hands from hers. But—” he paused, the formal legal phrases faltering, and closed his eyes for a moment before he could go on. “But she will never reclaim her Key from me again,” he went on huskily, “and there is none other for whom I may guard it or to whom I may pass it. Therefore I return it to you, from whom it came by God’s Grace, to hold in keeping for the Conclave of Steadholders.”

He reached out, offering the staff, but Benjamin didn’t take it. Instead, he shook his head, and Clinkscales’ eyes widened. It was rare on Grayson for a steadholder to perish without leaving any heir, however indirect the line of succession. Indeed, it had only happened three times in the planet’s thousand-year history—aside from the massacre of the Fifty-Three which had begun the Civil War… and the attainting of the Faithful which had concluded it. But the precedent was there, and Benjamin’s refusal of the staff had thrown Harrington Steading’s Regent completely off balance.

“Your Grace, I—” he began, then stopped himself and looked questioningly at Prestwick. The Chancellor only looked back, and Clinkscales returned his attention to the Protector.

“Sit back down, Howard,” Benjamin said firmly, and waited until the old man had settled back into his chair, then smiled without humor. “I see you don’t know exactly why I asked you to come by.”