“What does he want?”

“He wouldn’t say, My Lady.”

Moths gamboled about in Mist’s stomach. This had a bad smell. “Tell him I’ll be right down. See if he’ll take some brandy.”

“Certainly, My Lady. Shall I waken Marta?”

“I’ll dress myself.” She took her time, composing herself by chanting verses from the Soldier’s Ritual used by the warriors of her homeland. She did not leave her bedchamber till she was convinced that she was in complete self-control.

“You’re out late,” she observed as she entered the library. A tic of irritation pulled at one eye. Her warmth sounded false in her own ears.

The King scanned her quickly, his gaze impersonal. He was unimpressed by her beauty. She always felt inadequate in his presence: felt like she had a great hairy mole on the end of her nose or a livid scar across her cheek. He and Michael Trebilcock and Varthlokkur were all immune to her carefully crafted looks. Weird and frightening that so many such men should surround her, making treacherous the ground on which she was accustomed to operate, leaving her uncertain and inclined to become flustered….

“I was over at my house. I wanted to see you. Thought I’d save a trip and do it now.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I had a rough day. Excuse my manners. They may not be what they should.”

Her preparations were inadequate. Already she was growing flustered. She gobbled, “What’s on your mind?” and was immediately dismayed. She hadn’t wanted to be so direct.

“Just call me curious about what you and Aral are up to.”

Damn, she thought. She managed to mask her surprise. “Up to? What do you mean?”

“Let’s say I’ve noticed the coming together of what appear to be the elements of a ‘situation.’ I always try to be reasonable. Thought I’d give you a chance to explain before I got excited.”

“So?” The moths were back. Brandishing tusks dripping venom. Suddenly, she understood why Varthlokkur was in town. If Bragi thought he needed his back covered, he was sure….

“These are the ingredients: One exiled Princess of Shinsan, minus the tempering influence of a good man who fell at Palmisano. One young merchant of considerable wealth and influence, perhaps bedazzled. From the staff of Lord Hsung’s Western Army, Tervola who remain secret supporters of the Princess in exile.”

Mist held her breath. How could he know that? That damned Trebilcock! He really did have somebody inside Lord Hsung’s headquarters. She’d hoped she was wrong about that.

“Interestingly enough, these ingredients have come together just when my spies tell me Shinsan has been caught with what looks like an explosive crisis on its Matayangan frontier.”

Gods! Did he know everything? Did Trebilcock have an agent here in the house?

“A handy distraction,” the King continued. “Now, if you were me, wouldn’t all those things make you wonder?”

He spoke with an odd formality. Rather like a magistrate, she thought. His voice was tight. His gaze wandered nervously, but she was too distracted to seize and use his discomfort. She drifted away inside herself, trying to select a response which would not compromise her ambitions. Finally, “You’re right. I was approached by people inside Shinsan. By a traditionalist faction opposed to Lord Kuo’s penchant for change, and disturbed by the empire’s increasing instability. I’m the last living descendant of the founder, Tuan Hua. I was shaped during the Dual Principiate of the Princes Thaumaturge. They think I could reimpose old-fashioned stability and values, given a chance. So far it’s just been talk. I don’t think anything will come of it.”