“Thank you, Armsmaster,” he said. “I will come again.”

“Come every morning, if you like,” Carlion said. “I rise early myself.”

Back in his own chambers, Kieri found his bath waiting, and went down to breakfast with his mind full of what he needed to accomplish that day: the mourning ceremony for the old king—and he had to find out the man’s name!—making sure Galvary had an estimate for Halveric, so Halveric could begin planning the coronation, finding out who could help him with Lyonyan laws and customs—and at some point he would have to broach the topic he knew they would not want: that of security, the need for a defensive force. Could he wait until his coronation? Would the Pargunese, or the Verrakai?

The Council meeting that morning raised new concerns. His nobles were not stupid or lazy, but under a weak king they had lacked effective guidance, and wasted their energy competing among themselves for power and influence. They had no long-range plan; they expected matters to go on as they had, without requiring any intervention from them.

Only a glass later, they fell to quarreling over something that happened before he arrived, when someone’s cattle had encroached on someone else’s pastureland and heifers had been tupped by the wrong bull.

“Siers!” he said. The room fell silent. “Your quarrel is ill-timed; that happened years ago, and we have immediate matters. I will hear no more of that quarrel, is that clear?”

Three of them reddened, but bowed from their seats, and the murmur of “Yes, Sir King” included their voices.

“Good. We have immediate concerns: first is the mourning ceremony. How soon can it be arranged, Sier Belvarin?”

“Five days, Sir King. All is in readiness except the ritual boughs; they should arrive day after tomorrow, and then a day to trim them.”

“Then on that day, I will ask Council members to attend me, and the day before I will need advice on the ceremony itself, never having seen one.”

“I am at your service,” Sier Belvarin said. “That should take no more than two turns of the glass.”

“Sier Galvary?” Kieri said. “The budget for the coronation?”

“I handed the total in to Sier Halveric this morning,” Sier Galvary said.

“And I have begun,” Sier Halveric said. “Beginning with the invitations to distant personages.”

“What foreign guests should we expect?” Kieri asked.

“At the coronation of your predecessor Prealíth sent a representative; they should certainly be invited. The court of Tsaia sent a member of the royal family; they too should be invited. Kostandan sent a gift by their ambassador; I would expect the same. Pargun sent a member of the royal family; it … did not turn out well.”

“Oh?” Kieri raised his brows.

“His speech at the feast … was belligerent. He pointed out how many troops Pargun maintained, and claimed it was only by his father’s forbearance that we were suffered to exist a separate realm and that might not last. To put it plainly, he got drunk and made a fool of himself, and the Pargunese ambassador chose to believe it was our fault. Led the poor lad astray, he said, or poisoned him with elvish wine.” Halveric grimaced. “It was perfectly good brandy from Aarenis, not elvish.”