“Honor, you’re never going to make a good liar,” he told her, “and only a fool—which Empress Elizabeth obviously isn’t—would expect you to be any good at it. I’m quite sure that’s why she wants me to talk to you before she talks to me.”

“Why is everyone always telling me I’m an incompetent liar?” Honor demanded a bit plaintively. “I admit, I don’t get as much practice as, say, a professional diplomat or a used air car saleswoman, but still—!”

“It’s nothing personal,” Rabenstrange told her with a reassuring smile, “but no one can be accomplished at everything. It’s just that you’ve been too busy learning how to blow up starships and things like that to master the difficult arts of duplicity and chicanery as well.” He reached out to pat her on the arm. “Don’t take it too hard.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” she promised with an answering smile.

“Good.”

“But I’d still be interested to hear your interpretation of why Elizabeth sent you to me, first.”

“It’s simple really. She wants me to satisfy myself that she and Pritchart have been telling the Emperor the truth before she and I sit down to discuss the details. She wants that settled in my mind so that I can listen to what she’s proposing without worrying about whether or not she’s telling me the truth about her reasons for proposing it.”

“I see.”

Honor cocked her head thoughtfully. Elizabeth hadn’t told her exactly why she wanted her to speak to Rabenstrange first. Oh, the Empress had touched on several reasons, including the professional and personal rapport Honor and Rabenstrange had established over the years. Yet Honor had sensed that wasn’t everything Elizabeth had in mind. Now, as she thought back over the way the Empress’ mind-glow had tasted at the time, she decided Rabenstrange had a point.

“Well, if you’re right about that,” she said, “I suppose we should go ahead and discuss the rest of what Simões—and McBryde—had to say. But first, have a seat.”