Du Corse gave a wry grin. “Every ship in Havre, and every ship I could beg or borrow from the Conte de Hoek. Who is miraculously unaffected by anything. He says that the Nordikaans are pressed hard from the east; a veritable horde from the Wild.”

“I wish the Count of Hoek the best, as long as he doesn’t make any further attempt to undermine Alba’s coinage.” Gabriel was staring at the map.

“I suggested such a thing, by messenger,” Du Corse said.

“In other news, I have appointed you constable and regent of Galle,” Gabriel said. He had a scroll to that effect, and he retrieved it. It was odd, functioning without servants, but Ariosto put him in the unique position of traveling alone.

“And Clarissa is Queen of Arles,” Du Corse said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Gabriel said.

“So you have restored the Kingdom of Arles in the stroke of a pen,” Du Corse said.

“Yes,” the emperor said. Their eyes met and locked, and the two men stared at each other for enough time that Du Corse’s squires grew uncomfortable.

Du Corse pursed his lips. “I would like to have been . . . consulted,” he said, as graciously as he could manage.

Gabriel thought of saying what was on his mind, but he recognized that Du Corse had not, in fact, spoken what was on his own. So he nodded. “There was no time or place,” he said. Quietly, “Let me add, as one villain to another, that we have not found the King of Galle, and if we do, he will not survive our finding him.”

“Will he not?” Du Corse asked. “Ahh.” He nodded. “And I am appointed regent by the emperor.” He looked over the high plains of Galle. Ripe wheat ran in an endless sea of gold to the horizon, broken only by hedgerows of summer green.

Gabriel nodded. “Yes.”

“No lawyer in Lucrece would accept the right of the emperor to rule over Galle,” Du Corse said, his voice low.

“You mean, while they look under their beds for the not-dead?” Gabriel asked. He shook his head. “That’s last year’s news, my lord.”

Du Corse took in a deep breath. “Majesty—and by God, Gabriel Muriens, I admit your majesty . . . if we win, if we hold the line . . .” He shook his head. “Then what?”

“You are King of Galle,” Gabriel said.

Du Corse’s eyes narrowed. “I know that,” he said. “I mean . . . you’ve broken the old order. Not just here. Everywhere.”

“I know that,” Gabriel said with the smug satisfaction that made him so easy to hate.

Du Corse flushed. “Will you rule us all? The once and eternal king and magister?” He looked away. “I’d hate that.”