The old woman frowned. “Supposed ta be pretty bright, ain’t he?”

“He’s supposed to be a ’Kent-kissing genius,” Adare replied bitterly. “I know next to nothing about military matters, but he certainly outmaneuvered my father.”

“The thing about smart bastards,” Nira said, shaking her head, “can’t trust ’em, but sometimes ya need ’em.”

Adare stared. “You’re not telling me to let my father’s murderer live?”

The woman raised her brows at the tone. “I’m suggestin’, ya willful sow, that ya rule your bright little empire.”

“Administering justice,” Adare replied stiffly, “is central to rule.”

“What is central to rule,” Nira snapped, “is doing what needs doing, and if you think that’s always the same thing, then you might as well have the big man in the armor there put his blade between your breasts because ya ain’t gonna make it long, girl. Ya ain’t gonna survive.”

Adare started to reply when the rear door to the lodge clattered shut. Nira whirled about, cane at the ready, then cursed. Oshi was gone.

“The old fuckin’ fool never did know when ta stay put,” she muttered, striding toward the rear of the large hall. “I’ll be back in a skip. Don’t kill anyone till I’m back.”

Adare started to protest, but the woman had already followed her brother out the back of the building, cursing beneath her breath and brandishing her cane. Adare turned to find Fulton shaking his head. “I don’t know where you found her, Your Radiance, but she is a liability.”

“These days,” Adare replied bleakly, “you’re about the only person who’s not a liability, Fulton. And I include myself in that accounting.”

Before she could say more, the front door clattered open, and il Tornja strode in, his boots, breeches, and coat splattered with mud. Adare’s stomach twisted at the sight of him. He approached the table smiling, arms spread in welcome. Even after Fulton laid the broadblade calmly against the kenarang’s neck, Adare found herself stepping backward, as though she stood on the shore watching a great wave roll in. She had rehearsed the moment a thousand times on the long march north, first from Olon to Annur, then from Annur to Aats-Kyl, had prepared over and over again what she would say, how she would hold herself. Now, faced with her lover, Annur’s kenarang and regent, and her father’s murderer, it was all she could do to stand, to keep the trembling from her legs, to meet his eyes.