“I see.” Prestwick rubbed the end of his nose, then nodded. “All right, I do see that. And it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to quietly insert that Beowulf code into our own law, Your Grace, since we now have access to medical science which would make something like that possible. But how would that affect a child born to the Steadholder’s parents after her death?”

“It wouldn’t,” Clinkscales said positively. “The precedents are clear on that point, Henry, and they go back almost to the Founding. It’s unusual, of course, and I suppose that to be absolutely legal, the Key should pass to Devon Harrington until such time as Lady Harrington’s parents produce a child, but then the Steading would revert to her sibling. In fact, I think there was actually an example of that from your own family history, Your Grace. Remember Thomas the Second?”

“Tester!” Benjamin smacked himself on the forehead. “How did I forget that one?”

“Because it happened five centuries ago, I imagine,” Clinkscales told him dryly.

“And because Thomas isn’t exactly someone we Mayhews like to remember,” Benjamin agreed.

“Every family has its black sheep, Your Grace,” Prestwick said.

“I suppose so,” Benjamin said. “But not every family has someone who probably had his own brother assassinated to inherit the Protectorship!”

“That was never proven, Your Grace,” Clinkscales pointed out.

“Right. Sure!” Benjamin snorted.

“It wasn’t,” Clinkscales said more firmly. “But the point is that Thomas was actually named Protector… until his nephew was born.”

“Yeah,” Benjamin said. “And if he’d known one of his brother’s wives was pregnant and Dietmar Yanakov hadn’t smuggled her out of the Palace, his nephew never would have been born, either!”

“That’s as may be, Your Grace,” Prestwick said austerely. “But what matters is that it created a firm precedent in our own law for what Howard is suggesting.”

“I should certainly hope that a six-year dynastic war could at least establish a ‘firm’ precedent!” Benjamin observed.

“Your Grace, it may amuse you to dwell on the misdeeds of one of your ancestors, but it really doesn’t amuse us,” Prestwick told him.

“All right. All right, I’ll be good,” Benjamin promised, then sat for a moment, drumming on his desk while he thought. “Of course,” he went on after a moment, “Thomas’ sister-in-law was already pregnant when her husband died, but didn’t the same thing happen with the original Garth Steading?”

“Not precisely, although that was the original precedent I was thinking of,” Clinkscales agreed. “My history’s a little rusty, and I can’t remember the first Steadholder Garth’s given name—John, wasn’t it, Henry?” Prestwick flipped a hand to indicate his ignorance, and Clinkscales shrugged. “At any rate, the steading had just been created and he’d been confirmed as its first steadholder when he died. He was an only son, with no sons of his own, and the Garth Key couldn’t ‘revert’ to his parents, so no one had any idea what to do, and they spent the better part of two years wrangling about it. But then the Church and the Conclave discovered that his father’s youngest wife was pregnant and agreed that the Key could pass to her child if it was male. Which it was.” He shrugged again, holding out both hands palm up.