“Have you ever?”

“Have I ever what?” the emperor asked.

“Have you ever heard anyone address you with that absurd mouthful of blandishments and genuinely mean it?”

She was off on her usual best foot but took solace in the fact that he had invited the comment by receiving her in such a fashion. The meeting wasn’t unexpected or last minute; she’d applied for an audience a week ago.

“You never learned humility,” Estermon said.

“You never taught it.”

He paused, his ancient face compressing, either in sudden contemplation, or an effort to complete his deposit in the golden pot. “That’s very clever. If words were blades, you’d have no need for bodyguards, but then you’ve always been a smart child, haven’t you? That’s what got you in trouble. Your brilliance proved an irresistible temptation. Reading ruined you.”

“Glad you brought that up, as it’s why I asked to see you. Oh, but before we get to that, allow me to thank you so much for clearing your schedule the way you have. It shows how much you care for your only granddaughter, whom you haven’t seen in two years. I missed you, too, Granddada.”

“I’m a busy ruler. What do you want?”

She thought of asking for a more caring grandfather and a better emperor, but instead, she made the unaccustomed adult decision. “How did you get to be emperor?”

Estermon frowned, which made an already wrinkled face all the worse, like stretching out fatigued leather. “I grant you leeway because you’re family and because we’re alone.” Farilane glanced at the Groom of the Stool, who showed no indication that he’d heard the remark. “But I don’t like your jokes.”

“I’m not joking. I seriously want to know. To be precise, did you fight anyone to gain the right?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Do you know what the Horn of Gylindora is?”

“Is this a riddle? I don’t like riddles. Too early in the day for riddles.”

“It’s a question. Most people can identify questions by the way the tone of a person’s voice rises at the end of the sentence.”

Estermon smiled—sort of. His old, puckered lips drew out into a disturbing grimace that she chose to believe was a smile. “You’d be smart to watch your tone, or my voice will rise, and what I say won’t be questioned. And you wonder why I don’t clear my responsibilities to accommodate you. Get out.” He waved at her with his ring-decorated hand.

“I’m not done.”

“Yes, you are, and don’t expect to see me again until your wedding or my funeral.”