“Of course they will! The man is weak-willed and Arborium is rotten. He began with strength and resolve, but they have leached away, leaving only a dry husk of the leader that he was. It is time to cut that particular tree down to size.” Grasp was making speeches again. “But I don’t have the necessary manpower!”

Petronio saw the spittle flecking his father’s beard and he realized that the High Councillor was, after all, only a little man. He also knew for the first time that after years of public put-downs and not so public beatings, he despised his father.

“Our great empire has armies that would swamp this little backwater” — she snapped her fingers as if that were all it would take — “but unfortunately, there is the problem of a certain deadly gas.” She looked meaningfully at Petronio. Strange to think that mere hours ago, she had been on the brink of death herself.

“We have managed to produce a tiny amount of vaccine, but not enough to equip an invasion,” she continued. “Thus, the necessary use of force must come from elsewhere. Inside. I propose that we utilize your son to go on a little errand, up north to your armories. There is a certain commander there who may be, shall we say, sympathetic to our cause.”

Petronio’s heart beat faster. So this was what she had in mind!

“That is preposterous! The boy going by himself to Moss-side! They’ll turn him into mincemeat!” It wouldn’t be the injuries that were a problem, more the damage to the High Councillor’s reputation.

“Oh, do I have to explain everything? Your well-known presence may raise suspicion up there, do you not agree? Whereas a boy can travel like a ghost, and the message he carries slip through with ease. I also have faith that this young man is more than capable of looking after himself.”

If Petronio could have purred, he would.

“Why can’t you go?” demanded Grasp. “You seem to be able to crawl around our kingdom without being seen!”

“What? A woman in the world of swords, crossbows, and the other backward weapons your culture is so fond of? I would stand out like, in your language, a blossom in winter!”

Grasp wasn’t convinced. He shook his head, his mind filled with all that could go wrong.

Lady Fenestra had no doubt. “Come, young Petronio. I am sure your father can spare his best horse?”

Petronio found himself enjoying the emerging battle of wills, especially as his father was the loser. The Councillor looked ready to explode, but thought better of it. There was a tight silence.