“I’m a poet,” Thierry said calmly. “We’ve met. In your palace in Orane. Then you sent men to kill me, too, remember? But you needn’t kneel for that. I’m not important enough.”

He saw recognition dawn, with memory.

“Did you do that, cousin?” asked the king. “Did you also try to kill this man?”

“He did, your grace,” said Thierry Villar. “On the same day the duke of Montereau was chopped down in the street.”

“I…This man invaded my home!” the duke exclaimed.

A mistake.

“Invaded?” said Thierry. “I did that? Was I very fearsome?” His tone offered mockery. He knew how to do that.

And…the king of Ferrieres laughed aloud. He laughed. That, Thierry thought, would lacerate the other man more than anything else. Which was the point now. Though he himself could die.

“I request permission to have this presumptuous fool executed,” said Duke Laurent, proving that last thought true.

King Roch said, “Denied. We take this matter seriously, cousin. Among other things, this is also the man who destroyed your advocate’s lies at the trial proceeding. You are…you are partial to murder, aren’t you?”

It could be seen in Barratin’s face, the rage rising in him.

“It seems to us,” added the king, as if an amusing idea had just come to him, “that if we have a poet here, it would be shameful not to have a poem before we commence whatever formal discussion we are to have. After you kneel, of course. A verse to honour this encounter. Don’t you think, cousin?” He turned to Thierry again. “You have improvised for us before, Thierry Villar. Pleasingly. Will you be good enough to do so again?”

—

“Oh, dear Jad. Right now!” said Gauvard Colle. “Send him all your strength. Do it now!”

“What?” said Silvy. “What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“You can see him. They are all right there. Do it, woman!”

“You bastard!” Silvy cried. “I have no idea—”

“You love him, and he needs whatever you have. Use it. Send it! It is why you are here!”

And so, understanding nothing at all, Silvy tried. She did try.

—

His death, Thierry thought, would be worthwhile if it somehow resolved this without a war, wouldn’t it? Maybe the king had decided he was expendable? He could be given to Barratin, after whatever words he offered? Another…balancing?

He thought of Silvy. She was in his head. Always, but fiercely now. In the midst of this moment. He knew she loved him. He knew what she was. He knew he wanted to live with her, lie beside her through all the nights, all seasons, all years. Draw upon her strength. Share his. Be worthy of her. But also, also…be worthy of what the king now needed from him.

His father was just behind him. Thierry didn’t look back.