Tom nodded. “Hoot, hoot,” he said. “That’s a treat.” He paused, as if embarrassed; a rare moment for Tom. “Let’s say we win,” he said after a pause.

Gabriel smiled. “Sure,” he said.

Behind him, Anne Woodstock and Monteverdi exchanged looks.

Tom looked at his emperor. “I want somewhat,” he said finally.

“What kind of somewhat?” Gabriel asked.

“Earl of Eastwall,” Tom Lachlan said. “Or northern Thrake. I’ll take either.”

“You’re the Drover!” Gabriel said.

Tom laughed. “That was Hector’s world, not mine. He was a pretty, pretty man, and a maun fighter, but his whole world ran from the Inn to the Hills.” Tom looked out over the distant plains of Galle. “I want to wed Sukey,” he said.

“Tom Lachlan!” Gabriel said. He reined in his horse in surprise.

“Ach, aye. Don’t make it worset for me.” Tom grinned.

Gabriel grinned back and realized that somehow, at twenty-three, he’d become one of those middle-aged men who liked to hear that other men were getting married.

“But ye ken, Gabriel—I’m not king o’ any man, nor duke nor earl nor baron. Drover is just a job.” Tom was actually flushed.

“So’s emperor,” Gabriel said. “It’s like being drover. Ask Blanche. Mostly it’s about moving cattle.”

“Aye,” Tom laughed. “I kenned that when Kronmir made me tell him everything about movin’ coos. I was maun feared you’d send me to drove ’em.”

“I considered it,” Gabriel admitted.

“I like leadin’ men. I like fightin’ but I could, perhaps, be brought to admit I’m a little weary o’ the whole thing.” Tom made a face. “Never thought I’d admit to yon,” he said. “None o’ this is worth a kettle o’ beans. Here’s my point.”

Gabriel raised his hand. “I hear you,” he said. “Give me a few days. I think you’d make an excellent Earl of Eastwall, but I’m not at all sure we’re going to have a wall when we’re done. And I’m not sure Outwallers need feudal lords. I’m not sure anyone needs a feudal lord.”

“An’ that’s a load o’ bull-whallop, Gabriel. Don’t go prat’n to me about the rights o’ man. You know as well as I that ye’re a bloody-handed tyrant in drivin’ this war; nor could she be done any other way. Aye?” Tom shook his head. “Most loons can nae more govern themselves nor they could swim in fire.”

Gabriel set his jaw.

Tom laughed. “Ye’r plannin’ to turn Jack?” he asked.

Gabriel had to smile. “I want to leave our world with a system to hold the next few times without all this . . .”