"Has nothing to do with it," Grus broke in. "Is your master his own master, or is he not?"

"Prince Korkut owns no man his master. That includes you, Your Majesty," Falak said pointedly.

So there, Grus thought. But it wasn't enough of a so there to slow him down. "That's nice," he said. "It doesn't answer the question I asked, though. Is he his own master or not? If he is, will he give me the Scepter of Mercy in exchange for help against Sanjar? If he isn't, why am I wasting my time talking to you? Let the Banished One send me an envoy if he wants something from me."

Now Falak bared his teeth in what looked like a smile but wasn't. "Be careful what you ask for. You may get it."

Grus pretended less concern than he felt. "Avornis has met his envoys before. The last one came to tell us everyone in the capital would starve to death in the coming winter. You see how true that turned out to be." He remembered the winter the Banished One had sent Avornis. He hadn't been king yet; he'd been down in the south, and it was appalling even there. It had been worse up at the city of Avornis, but the city – and the kingdom – came through. How close it had been

… He preferred not to think about that, and so he didn't.

Falak bowed. "Say what you will. I see this discussion is pointless. If you and Korkut meet, it will be on the field. And if the Fallen Star does deign to notice your nerve, may you have joy of it." He bowed again, then bounded up into the saddle. He jerked savagely at the reins to turn his horse's head and trotted back toward the south. Hirundo waved to the scouts who'd brought him in. They rode off, too, to return Falak's weapons to him and to escort him out beyond the Avornans' lines.

"As you say, Your Majesty, it was worth asking." Hirundo shrugged. "Too bad he told you no, too."

"Now we have some idea about which of Ulash's sons is more in awe of the Banished One," Grus said. "Sanjar might have given up the Scepter if he'd had it. Maybe I should have thrown in with him."

The general shook his head. "I doubt it. If he did hold the Scepter of Mercy, he'd've hung on to it just like Korkut. It's a lot easier to think about giving away something you haven't got." He stared south. The dust their horses kicked up began to swallow Falak and his Avornan escorts.

"I suppose you're right. No, I know you're right," Grus said. "We just have to go on, then. And if the Banished One does send an envoy" – he shuddered – "well, we'll deal with that as best we can, too."

Lanius put smoked salmon and sliced onions and olives on a roll. He slid the silver tray across the table to Ortalis and Limosa. "Here you are," he said. "This will make a fine breakfast." Turning to Sosia, he added, "Pass the pitcher of wine when you're through with it, please."

"Of course," she said, and she did. The pitcher, also silver, was decorated with a relief of Olor in pursuit of a goddess who would become one of his six wives. Since she wasn't overburdened by clothes, she looked as though she had a good chance of escaping him this time.

Ortalis piled salmon and onions high. He went easy on the olives; he wasn't as fond of them as Lanius was. "Your turn," he said to Limosa.

She usually liked smoked salmon. Today, she put a little on a roll. She looked at it. She added a few sliced olives and then hesitantly reached for a pungent slice of onion. She raised the roll to her mouth, but put it down before she could take a bite. "Please excuse me," she said, and bolted from the table.

"Oh, dear," Lanius said, and then, at the sound of retching a moment later, "Oh, dear. How long has she been sick?"

Sosia had another question for her brother – she asked, "When is she going to have the baby?" Lanius kicked himself for not figuring that out on his own.

"Some time this winter," Ortalis answered. "She only realized she was carrying a child a few days ago. We were going to wait until we were surer before we told you – but it looks like there's no more need to wait now. If the gods are kind, they'll send me a son."

Sosia murmured something that had no words in it. Lanius sipped at his wine to make sure Ortalis couldn't see his face till he got it under control. He didn't much want Grus' legitimate son to have a male heir. Ortalis' son would be a rival for Crex. So far, Ortalis hadn't shown much interest in the throne. The kind of power he craved was more personal than political. But he might well want to seize for a son what he didn't care about for himself.

Limosa walked back into the dining room. She looked wan. When she sat down, she reached for her winecup. She sloshed the wine around in her mouth before swallowing it.

"Are you all right?" Lanius asked.

"Better now, anyway," she answered. "I'm afraid I, uh, didn't quite make it to the privy. The servants have a mess to clean up."

"That's what servants are for," Ortalis said with a wave of the hand.

I'm sure they love you, too, Lanius thought. He nodded to Limosa. "So – another baby on the way? Congratulations!" He could say that and still hope she would have a girl.

She blushed, ever so slightly; that she'd been so pale made it easier to see. "Thank you, Your Majesty. You're kind to say so." She picked up the roll she'd so hastily abandoned. This time, she did take a bite.

"Will it stay down?" Sosia asked. apprehensively, as though listening to her stomach. Then her smile got wider. "Yes, it'll be all right. Everything's fine in there now. I got rid of what was bothering me – until the next time."

"Yes – until the next time," Sosia echoed with womanly sympathy. She knew what Limosa was going through in a way that Lanius couldn't. Morning sickness was nothing he'd ever wanted to learn about at first hand, either.

Even though Limosa said she was feeling better, she didn't finish the roll and the smoked salmon. She excused herself again. This time, Lanius was glad to see, she didn't leave the room at a dead run. The king looked across the table at his brother-in-law. "Be careful with her," he warned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ortalis asked, but his eyes said he knew.

Lanius spelled it out anyway. "While she's with child, leave the whip… wherever you keep it. Hunt more instead, do whatever else you think you need to do, but don't give her new stripes. This isn't the time for it."

Something hot and unpleasant kindled in Ortalis' eyes. "You mind your business, Your Majesty, and I'll mind mine." In his mouth, Lanius' title sounded more like curse than compliment. Grus' legitimate son rose from the table, turned on his heel, and strode out after his wife.

"I wouldn't have told him that," Sosia said. "Why not? Because Limosa enjoys it as much as he does? That's not reason enough, not when she's going to have a baby," Lanius said. "He's liable to get carried away, and who knows what would happen then?"

His wife shook her head. "No, not because Limosa likes it. Because if she does die… then or in childbed, we don't have to worry about any son of Ortalis'. We don't have to worry about him so much, either."

From a political point of view, Sosia made breathtakingly good sense. She had much more of Grus' ruthless pragmatism than Ortalis did; all he'd gotten was the ruthlessness. Even so, Lanius said, "I don't want Limosa dead. I can't stand her father, gods know, and your brother – " He broke off before resuming, "Well, he is what he is, that's all. But Limosa? She's kind of sweet, even if she… likes what she likes. Who would have thought Ortalis could find such a good match? And having him running wild again might make things worse, not better."

"Maybe." Sosia didn't sound as though she believed it for a minute. "You're too soft for your own good, if you care even a copper for what I think. Who cares about likes? You want Crex to be king after you, don't you?"