“No …” Edeard began wearily.

“Good, because I for one am not prepared to see everything we’ve achieved shit upon from a great height just because you’re menopausal.”

“I am not …” Okay, maybe he hasn’t changed that much. “All right, I’m a little sour myself right now, I admit that I went to see the Mayor three days ago to press for the livestock certificate expansion.”

“I heard. So he said no? You’ll be Chief Constable in under three weeks. You can apply some pressure in the Grand Council, push it through yourself.”

“I won’t do that though,” Edeard said forcefully. “Because Trahaval was right, wasn’t he? You must have seen it. We can’t extend the livestock certificates to sheep and pigs, for the Lady’s sake. It was an idiotic idea. Who wants that much paperwork? Don’t you remember the time we drew up the one hundred list? We didn’t see daylight for weeks on end, we were so busy with all those forms and reports and chits. A great bunch of extra certificates is simply pushing the job off on clerks. Our job! If rustling is to be stopped, it should be by constables enforcing the law. What was I thinking?”

“Ah. Yes. Definitely menopausal.”

“I was letting things slip. It’s complacency, and it was stupid of me. But not now, not anymore.”

“Oh, Lady, so now what? You want to go back out there with a couple of regiments? Take the city’s finest and haul the provincial militia along so you can catch sheep rustlers? Is that what it’s come to?”

“It hasn’t come to that. You don’t get it. We’ve been sailing along these last few years; we have no goals anymore. It was never just about winning, beating Owain and Buate; it was always about what happened afterward. Well, this is afterward and it matters to me. It matters a lot.”

“All right, then.” Macsen heaved out a big sigh. “I’ll kiss the mistress of Sampalok goodbye and ride out with you again. But you’ve got to admit it, we’re really getting too old and fat for this kind of thing. How about we just sit in the headquarters tent and leave the glory bits to your Dylorn, my Castio, and all the other youngsters?”

Edeard’s eyes automatically gazed down on Macsen’s belly. We’re not all so old and fat, thank you. In fact he was rather proud of himself for keeping his daily run going all this time. Today he could still climb the stairs in the ziggurat without getting out of breath. There were even running clubs in the city now, and the big autumn race from the City Gate across the Iguru to Kessal’s Farm and back was an annual event, with more people entering each year.

“No,” Edeard said. “That’s not the way to handle this. We have to change the way station captains and sheriffs operate. They need to gather more information, maybe put together some dedicated teams of constables who don’t just spend their days out on patrol.”

“More special Grand Council committees?”

“No, not like that. Just a group of officers, those with some experience and a little smarter than average, who’ll devote more of their time to investigating all the aspects of a crime, trying to build up a pattern. Like we used to do. You remember how I spied on Ivarl to find out what he was up to?”

“I remember what happened to you when you did.”

“All I’m saying is we need to get smarter, to adapt. Life is different now. It would be the worst kind of irony if we’re the ones who can’t keep up and benefit.”

Macsen gripped Edeard’s shoulder, smiling broadly. “You know what your real trouble is?”

“What?” Edeard asked, though he’d already guessed the answer.

“You’re a glory glutton.”

– -

It was the third night Edeard had lain awake in the big bedroom on the tenth floor of the Culverit ziggurat. He really should have been able to sleep. The room was perfect for him; he’d spent years altering it, expanding the arching windows that led out onto the hortus, changing the lights to circles that shone with a warm pink-white radiance, reducing the ceiling height, producing alcoves for which Kristabel had commissioned furniture that fit exactly, toning the walls to a subtle gray-blue so they matched the specially woven carpet. Even the spongy bed mattress had been adjusted until it achieved exactly the firmness both he and Kristabel wanted. They’d argued over her fondness for draping all the furniture in lace, compromising with a few tasteful frills. Even the curtains were a stylish pale russet, although they did have thick jade piping and tassels. The tassels had been one of the things he’d compromised on, but he really couldn’t blame them for his not being able to sleep.

Kristabel shifted beside him, pulling the silk sheets about. He held his breath until she was sleeping deeply again. There had been a time, not all that long ago, when he would have nuzzled up to her when she did that and they’d start caressing and kissing. There would be giggles and moaning, then sheets and blankets would be flung aside, and they’d work each other’s bodies to that wondrous physical pinnacle they knew exactly how to reach.

Gazing over at her in the dusky light that crept around the curtains, he wondered when all that had ended. Not that it had finished; they still made love several times a month. Whereas it used to be several times a night. Kristabel was still beautiful. She was not girlish anymore, which he didn’t want, anyway; her hair was starting to lighten, and there were a few lines around her eyes. But physically she was still very desirable. He could remember only too well all the cursing and misery after each child about how much weight she’d put on during the pregnancy and how she’d never look good again. Then there’d be the long fight to get back in shape, with fierce discipline over what she ate and then the kind of exercise that put his morning run to shame.

But she no longer wore the short lacy negligees he used to adore, and they showered separately and didn’t talk and shout each other down; nor did they laugh, not the way they used to. Developing dignity, he’d thought; at least that was what he told himself. The kind of dignity that comes with growing up and taking responsibilities seriously. And their ever-increasing burden of duties and how tired that always left them. Though it shouldn’t; all they had to do was delegate.

We’re just not the same people. That’s not a fault thing. Live with it. Even so, his traitor mind nearly sent his farsight creeping out to the House of Blue Petals. Ranalee would doubtless have that bewitched lad performing his strenuous best for her, corrupting him beyond salvation. Her love life had never ebbed.

No! It wasn’t fair to blame sex for everything. Attitudes, too, had hardened over the years. Edeard had always favored moving the city toward a full democracy, slowly reducing the power of the Upper Council and expanding the authority of the representatives. It would never be a swift transition; he fully expected that he wouldn’t live to see its conclusion. But as long as the process could be started, he would be content. However, with all the other changes and reforms within the city and the strengthening of bonds with the provinces, that seemed to have been delayed year after year. Kristabel hadn’t helped, not as he’d assumed she would. When she finally had taken her seat in the Upper Council as mistress of Haxpen, there had been too many other, more immediate, causes to support. As part of Finitan’s voting bloc she was expected to advance the Mayor’s new legislation and budgets and taxes. None of them had been focused on expanding general democracy.

He knew he shouldn’t confuse personality with politics. But it was hard not to blame her for being part of the Grand Family setup, which she bitterly resented.

Edeard hated himself for having such doubts about himself and Kristabel, doubts and questions that had only increased since the appearance of the Skylord. That was the real root of his sleepless nights. Since the afternoon when the Liliala Hall ceiling had cleared for him, he’d been striving to sense the Skylord’s thoughts, and he’d failed miserably.