Toby bowed. “If you choose this path, I can see to it . . .”

“Say no more,” she said. “Perhaps I will see you in the morning.”

Toby sprang up the steps with the energy he’d have used in a storming action. He reached the top and the door to the outer solar was open; he walked boldly in, to find Master Julius copying rapidly with both of his clerks and one of the imperial messengers helping him. Through two open doors he could see the empress being undressed by her lady. The emperor had his back to the door and was reading a message. There was a fire in the grate, and darkness was falling across the world.

Anne appeared at the inner door with a doublet across her left arm and the emperor’s war sword in her right hand. When she saw Toby, her face lit up. His heart beat very fast.

“I’ll do the sword,” he said, sitting on one of the benches at the second writing table. He drew the sword; it was spotless, but Toby took a rag and some oil and touched it up, checking the edge . . .

“Is that you, Toby?” called the emperor.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Toby said. Sharp in the last ten inches toward the point; sharp enough to shave with. But the rest . . .

“Shouldn’t you be rolled in a blanket with a sweet friend, Toby?” the emperor asked. “Since you are not, fetch the Megas Dukas, please?”

Toby ducked out, ran down the tightly curving stairs and up the opposite set to Ser Michael’s room.

“Cap’n wants you,” Toby called past Lord Robin, who was laying out armour.

Michael appeared, fully clothed, with a baby on his shoulder. “Lead on,” he said.

His child was spitting up onto his silk-velvet doublet. Toby ran down the steps and heard Ser Michael following, and then up, noting that the Queen of Arles was gone.

Morgon Mortirmir was right behind them.

The emperor was waiting with wine he’d poured himself.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” he said. “I won’t keep you. A last adjustment,” he said apologetically. “I will open the gate myself.”

“It’s a foolish risk,” Mortirmir said.

“Morgon,” the emperor said, his voice flat, “can we remember which of us is emperor?” He looked around. Blanche was in a shift, standing in the bedroom door with her lady’s face peeping over her shoulder. MacGilly was laying out the emperor’s arming clothes; Anne was already laying out a cold breakfast.

“I am the strongest,” Mortirmir said.

“When Father Arnaud died, I swore that I would not risk another life if I could do the thing myself. I will do this, gentlemen.” To Toby, it had the sound of an old argument.

Mortirmir shrugged. “If you fall—”

“Then I don’t have to worry about the next part. Sorry to interrupt your evenings. Go to bed.” The emperor bowed.