“No,” said Aileron. “For all the love I bear him, I will not wait on this. There is, in truth, little to discuss.”

Kim Ford, in that room as the newest, the only, Seer of Brennin, watched him stride to stand by Gorlaes.

And a step above him, directly before the throne. He will always be like this, she thought. There is only the force of him.

And with force, cold, unyielding force, Aileron looked over them all and spoke again. “In time of council Loren’s wisdom will be sorely needed, but this is not a time of council, whatever you may have thought.”

Diarmuid was no longer pacing. He had moved, at Aileron’s first words, to stand directly in front of his brother, an unruffled contrast to Aileron’s coiled intensity.

“I came here,” said Aileron dan Ailell flatly, “for the Crown, and to lead us into war. The Throne is mine”—he was looking directly at his brother—“and I will kill for it, or die for it before we leave this hall.”

The rigid silence that followed this was broken a moment later by the jarring sound of one man clapping.

“Elegantly put, my dear,” said Diarmuid as he continued to applaud. “So utterly succinct.” Then he lowered his hands. The sons of Ailell faced each other as if alone in the vast hall.

“Mockery,” said Aileron softly, “is easy. It was ever your retreat. Understand me, though, brother. This, for once, is no idle sport. I want your fealty this hour, in this place, or there are six archers in the musicians’ gallery who will kill you if I raise my hand.”

“No!” Kim exclaimed, shocked out of silence.

“This is preposterous!” Teyrnon shouted at the same time, striding forward. “I forbid—”

“You cannot forbid me!” Aileron rode over him. “Rakoth is free. What lies ahead is too large for me to trifle with.”

Diarmuid had cocked his head quizzically to one side, as if considering an abstract proposition. Then he spoke, his voice so soft they had to strain to hear. “You would truly do this thing?”

“I would,” Aileron replied. With no hesitation at all.

“Truly?” Diarmuid asked a second time.

“All I have to do is raise my arm,” Aileron said. “And I will if I must. Believe it.”

Diarmuid shook his head slowly back and forth; he sighed heavily. Then:

“Coll,” he said, and pitched it to carry.

“My lord Prince.” The big man’s voice boomed instantly from overhead. From the musicians’ gallery.

Diarmuid lifted his head, his expression tranquil, almost indifferent. “Report.”

“He did do it, my lord.” Coil’s voice was thick with anger. He moved forward to the railing. “He really did. There were seven men up here. Say the word and I will slay him now.”