He nodded. “Certainly. Will you believe that that did not simplify, it vastly complicated things for me? I thought I thought this border rectification would be for the best. And, yes, I think I can do a better than average job, first in rebuilding out here, not least in building a reconciliation with Ythri; later, if I’m lucky, on the Policy Board, where I can instigate a number of reforms. Ought I to lay down this work in order that my conscience may feel smug? Am I wicked to enjoy the work?”

Saracoglu reached in a pocket for his cigaret case. “Perhaps the answer to, those questions is yes,” he finished. “How can a mortal man be sure?”

Luisa took a pair of steps in his direction. Amidst the skips of his heart he remembered to maintain his rueful half-smile. “Oh, Ekrem—” She stopped. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency.”

“No, I am honored, Donna,” he said.

She didn’t invite him to use her given name, but she did say, smiling through tears, “I’m sorry, too, for what I hinted. I didn’t mean it. I’d never have come tonight if I hadn’t gotten to know you for a… a decent man.”

“I hardly dared hope you would accept,” he told her, reasonably truthfully. “You could be celebrating with people your age.”

The diamonds threw scintillations when she shook her head. “No, not for something like this. Have you heard I was engaged to be married once? He was killed in action two years ago. Preventive action, it was called — putting down some tribes that had refused to follow the ‘advice’ of an Imperial resident — Well.” She drew breath. “Tonight I couldn’t find words to thank God. Peace was too big a gift for words.”

“You’re the Admiral’s daughter,” he said. “You know peace is never a free gift.”

“Do wars come undeserved?”

A discreet cough interrupted. Saracoglu turned. He was expecting his butler to announce cocktails, and the sight of a naval uniform annoyed him. “Yes?” he snapped.

“If you please, sir,” the officer said nervously.

“Pray excuse me, Donna.” Saracoglu bowed over Luisa’s wonderfully slim hand and followed the man out into the hall.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Courier from our forces at Laura, sir.” The officer shivered and was pale. “You know, that border planet Avalon.”

“I do know.” Saracoglu braced himself. “Well, sir, they got word of the armistice all right. Only they reject it. They insist they’ll keep on fighting.”

The bony, bearded face in the screen said, on a note close to desperation, “Sirs, you are… are behaving as if you were mad.”

“We’ve got company,” Daniel Holm replied.

“Do you then propose to secede from the Domain?” Admiral Cajal exclaimed.

“No. The idea is to stay in it. We’re happy there. No Imperial bureaucrats need apply.”

“But the armistice agreement—”

“Sure, let’s keep the present cease-fire. Avalon doesn’t want to hurt anybody.”

Cajal’s mouth stiffened. “You cannot pick and choose among clauses. Your government has declared the Empire may occupy this system pending the final peace settlement.”

Liaw of The Tarns thrust his frosty head toward the scanner that sent his image to Holm’s office and Cajal’s orbiting warcraft. “Ythrian practice is not Terran,” he said. “The worlds of the Domain are tied to each other principally by, vows of mutual fidelity. That our fellows are no longer able to help us does not give them the right to order that we cease defending ourselves. If anything, deathpride requires that we continue the fight for what help it may afford them.”

Cajal lifted a fist into view. “Sirs,” he rasped, “you seem to think this is the era of the Troubles and your opponents are barbarians who’ll lose purpose and organization and go away if they’re stalled for a while. The truth is, you’re up against Imperial Terra, which thinks in terms of centuries and reigns over thousands of planets. Not that any such time or power must be spent on you. Practically the entire force that broke the Domain can now be brought to bear on your single globe. And it will be, sirs. If you compel the outcome, it will be.”

His gaze smoldered upon them. “You have strong defenses,” he said, “but you must understand how they can be swamped. Resistance will buy you nothing except the devastation of your homes, the death of thousands or millions. Have they been consulted?”

“Yes,” Liaw replied. “Between the news of Ythri’s capitulation and your own arrival, Khruath and Parliament voted again. A majority favors holding on.”

“How big a majority this time?” Cajal asked shrewdly. He saw feathers stir and facial muscles twitch, and nodded. “I do not like the idea of making war on potentially valuable subjects of His Majesty,” he said, “most especially not on women and children.”

Holm swallowed. “Uh, Admiral. How about… evacuating everybody that shouldn’t stay or doesn’t want to… before we start fighting again?”

Cajal sat motionless. His features congealed. When he spoke, it was as if his throat pained him. “No. I may not help an enemy rid himself of his liabilities.”

“Are you bound to wage war?” Liaw inquired. “Cannot the cease-fire continue until a peace treaty has been signed?”

“If that treaty gives Avalon to the Empire, will you obey?” Cajal retorted.

“Perhaps.”

“Unacceptable. Best to end this affair at once.” Cajal hesitated. “Of course, it will take time to set things in order everywhere else and marshal the armada here. The de jure cease-fire ends when my ship has returned to the agreed-on distance. But obviously the war will remain in statu quo, including the de facto cease-fire with respect to Avalon and Morgana, for a short period. I shall confer with Governor Saracoglu. I beseech you and all Avalonians to confer likewise with each other and use this respite to reach the only wise decision. Should you have any word for us, you need but broadcast a request for a parley. The sooner we hear, the milder — the more honorable — treatment you can expect”

“Observed,” Liaw said. There followed ritual courtesies, and the screen blanked which had shown Cajal.

Holm and Liaw traded a look across the kilometers between them. At the rear of the man’s office, Arinnian stirred uneasily.

“He means it,” Holm said.

“How correct is his assessment of relative capabilities?” the Wyvan asked.

“Fairly good. We couldn’t block a full-out move to wreck us. Given as many ships as he can whistle up, bombarding, ample stuff would be sure to get past our interception. We depend on the Empire’s reluctance to ruin a lot of first-class real estate… and, yes, on that man’s personal distaste for megadeaths.”

“You told me earlier that you had a scheme.”

“My son and I are working on it. If it shows any promise, you and the other appropriate people will hear. Meanwhile, I imagine you’re as busy as me. Fair winds, Liaw.”

“Fly high, Daniel Holm.” And that screen blanked.

The Marchwarden kindled a cigar and sat scowling, until he rose and went to the window. Outside was a clear winter’s day. Gray did not get the snowfall of the mountains or the northern territories, and the susin stayed green on its hills the year around. But wind whooped, cold and exultant, whitecaps danced on a gunmetal bay, cloaks streamed and fluttered about walking humans, Ythrians overhead swooped through changeable torrents of air.

Arinnian joined him, but had to wet his lips before he could speak. “Dad, do we have a chance?”

“Well, we don’t have a choice,” Holm said.

“We do. We can swallow our damned pride and tell the people the war’s lost.”

“They’d replace us, Chris. You know that. Ythri could surrender because Ythri isn’t being given away. The other colonies can accept occupation because it’s unmistakable to everybody that they couldn’t now lick a sick kitten. We’re different on both counts.” Holm squinted at his son through rank blue clouds of smoke. “You’re not scared, are you?”