Tris turned his attention to Harrtuck, who knelt before him, his head down, eyes averted. "On the night my father was murdered, you ran for the castle, hoping to save the rest of my family. Without your service, I wouldn't have escaped, or survived to take back the throne." Tris reached down and folded his hands over Harrtuck's hands around his proffered sword. "Your men acted quickly and bravely. They stopped the assassin."

"It would have been nice to find out who sent him," Tarq muttered.

Tris looked at the general with narrowed eyes. "I summoned the assassin's spirit. Surely Soterius told you."

"My mistake."

Tris returned his attention to Harrtuck. "I won't accept your offer. There's no one I trust more or who's better suited to the task." He managed a thin smile. "Now please, take back your sword and let's get down to business."

Harrtuck met his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured as he belted on his sword and returned to his seat. Soterius had calmed, although his eyes flashed. Tris imagined they would discuss the issue at length in private. Senne and Palinn looked relieved. Tarq and Rallan revealed nothing. Tris guessed that the conversation immediately prior to his entry had involved finger-pointing and blame around the assassination attempt.

Tris made little attempt to hide his annoyance. "It's impossible to keep a king completely safe without locking him up in his own tower," he said. "If there's anyone at this table who's better acquainted with every weak point of this castle than Ban, Tov, and myself, I'd like to know it. To my knowledge, we're the only ones here who have ever tried to infiltrate Shekerishet and kill the king." Putting their efforts to overthrow Jared and reclaim the throne in those terms brought a glimmer of amusement to Soterius's eyes, and even lightened Harrtuck's mood.

"Point taken, Sire," said Rallan. "But the fact remains that this assassin was hired by someone with Trevath gold."

"Curane is less than a day's ride to the Trevath border," added Tarq.

"If you were going to hire an assassin, wouldn't it be nice to throw off the scent by casting blame on the player everyone wants to suspect?" Senne countered. Senne was the age of Tris's father, and had been a close friend of the late king. Bricen had spoken well of Senne. He had deserted with his troops when Jared seized the throne, eluding the manhunts and using a small band of deserters to harry Jared's troops throughout the mountain passes of central Margolan, eventually joining' his efforts with the insurrection Soterius and Mikhail had raised.

Palinn, too, had paid a price for his-loyalty to King Bricen. He and his troops had also deserted. But their hiding place had been betrayed, and Palinn lived to see his troops, his lands, and his family destroyed by Jared's decree. He survived six months in Jared's dungeons. A thin red scar around his throat and a gravelly voice were reminders of a garroting and hinted at what he had endured. His hair, previously a sable black, had turned white as snow. His eyes, in unguarded moments, revealed glimpses of what he would not discuss.

"Trevath has meddled in Margolan's affairs before," responded Tarq.

Tarq, Tris thought with distaste, had fled into south Isencroft, where he had waited out the remainder of the war. Rallan had sought refuge with a noble family in northern Margolan. Neither had played any role in overthrowing Jared. Only a lack of other qualified candidates for the roles had convinced Tris to keep the two men in their positions.

"We can't win a war against Trevath right now, not with the army in its present condition," replied Palinn. "We can't fight both Trevath and Curane's men. Maybe Curane did receive assistance from Trevath. And maybe Curane wants to lead us into a war he knows we can't win, so he can sit back and claim the spoils."

"The fact remains—" Rallan began.

"We have no facts, except one. Someone tried to kill Tris," snapped Soterius. "And in a fortnight, we're going to have a palace full of visiting royalty. We'd damn well better figure how to assure their safety. An incident like this at the wedding, and we could find ourselves at war with one of our allies."

"Ban's right," Harrtuck said. "We need to make sure that the wedding goes smoothly. In my opinion," he said with a flinty look at both Tarq and Rallan, "that means soldiers as well as guardsman on patrol throughout the castle grounds, the villages below, and the main routes into the city."

"I agree," said Soterius. "If we fail to secure the wedding, we'll be so busy cleaning up the mess that we won't get free to march on Curane before the snows."

"Agreed," replied Senne, although it was clear from the expressions on Tarq and Italian's faces that they did not share the opinion. "When's the first possibility for marching on Curane?"

"Once the feast is done, we should move quickly," grumbled Rallan. "We'll be late into the fall. The north will already have snow by then."

"We're headed south. Snow doesn't worry me," replied Palinn. "Best time of year for a siege." His voice, a painful rasp, immediately commanded attention. Tris listened in silence as the generals debated the possible routes and options for attack for nearly a candle-mark.

Palinn turned to face Tris. "It would be advisable to secure the secession before we leave for Curane's lands."

"Preferable, but we have no way to know whether the... timing... will be fortuitous," replied Tarq, attempting to be delicate.

"I understand that handling such things is part of the responsibility of those who arrange the dates," responded Rallan.

The comments hit Tris like- a dousing of cold water. A first flush of embarrassment gave way to anger. Secure the secession! They're discussing Kiara and me as if we were a pair of horses to be put out for stud, he thought indignantly. And in a way we are. Isn't that part of it? Noble bloodlines, champion heritage—

"That's enough," Tris broke in.

"I realize this is a sensitive topic, Sire," Senne said smoothly, with a glare to silence Tarq and Rallan. "We mean no disrespect, to you or the princess. But the safety of Margolan is our concern, and a smooth succession bodes well for the kingdom. As matters stand, if you were to fall in battle—may the Lady protect you always—Jared's bastard would be the legitimate heir. Until you produce an heir of your own, we live with that peril. Capable as she may be, the future Queen cannot rule Margolan save as regent for a child."

Tris forced back his anger. Senne was right. The coming of winter provided for a short honeymoon—perhaps at most a month— before the army would have to march south or wait until spring. He had heard that healers could tamper with nature's cycles to improve the odds of conception, just as a skilled healer or hedge witch could prevent pregnancy. Such things were the most common matters for which both healers and hedge witches were consulted.

Damn! Tris thought. If there was one thing I wanted to be free of Margolan intrigue, it was a private space for Kiara and me. He knew better. A royal wedding was by definition betrothed by arrangement to Jared made the buzz of court gossip that much higher. Spending a year on the road with her beforehand and proposing without even a 'by your leave' to the Council raised even more eyebrows. Add to that talk that it was a marriage of necessity given Isencroft's poor fortunes of late and a hint of scandal about a bride-to-be who was an apt swordswoman; Tris knew he had already given the Margolan court more to talk about than in many a year. "My Liege, you're pale," Soterius said. I'm not quite ready to swoon, but it would be a good excuse to.get out of this damnable conversation, Tris thought ill-temperedly. "I would prefer to leave the details for another time," he replied.