«Yes, of course, I…» She winced. «I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but you ought to know, among the confirmed dead, Crown Prince Leonor Valentín… they were standing right by Perry in the video, you can see… they… It was quick.»

In ancient days the treasons of dynasties could so harden a monarch that he might watch his child put to the sword without so much as a moist eye; not anymore. «Yes.» Spain tried to hide his face. «Yes, I saw.»

Navarro said it hurt more even than the sight of flames, seeing the King’s cheeks wet with tears. «Is…» she began, «how is… your other…»

«Epicuro Mason is recovering.»

The news heartened all, as shade salves the laborer’s sun-seared shoulders.

«I can’t tell you how glad we are to have you here, Your Majesty. I mean, to have you back. This never would have happened if you were still Prime Minister.»

«We don’t know that,» His Majesty replied.

She was afraid to contradict the King, but the room’s silence urged her on with its panorama of agreeing faces. «Maybe not, Your Majesty, but we do know your family was the biggest restraint on O.S. all these decades. You, Epicuro Mason, your predecessors, you’re the only ones who tried to keep us off this path. If Europe had an Emperor like the Masons do—»

Spain stopped her there. «I failed to prevent this as much as anyone. It is no credit to me if I’m the one Kraye chose to pick up the pieces.»

* * *

“The Utopian is here, Madame.”

“Ah, welcome. I had begun to wonder if your Hive was boycotting my little establishment.”

Madame elected to receive this visitor in her nursery, vivid with painted animals and red damask. Madame’s intimates testify that she became even more beautiful during the years of Jehovah’s childhood than she was before His birth, rich-voiced, bright-eyed. If so, it was the idea of motherhood more than the act that changed her, for with three nurses, eight servants, ten bodyguards, five tutors selected by His fathers, and four more chosen for the Boy by her, she spent barely enough time with the Child to train Him to recognize her as the Matriarch to whom He owed French and obedience.

“Sit, friend,” she invited. “Sit.”

“I prefer to stand.” The Utopian faced her squarely, hands clasped behind as a silent promise that no beasts or wonders would pounce forth from the sleeves. “I have a message for you. We surrender.”

“What?”

“We know what you are doing here. Your conquest of the other Hives has progressed beyond their ability to counter. We have no desire to destroy ourselves fighting back alone. I am here to negotiate terms.”

Madame tapped her chair arm with the day’s fan, albino peacock feathers streaked with poppy red to match her gown. “That’s a very cold way of describing the situation.”

“You are a self-made siren. You’ll understand why I ward myself.”

She blinked at the compliment. “What is your name?”