He peeked from beneath the canvas. “Why so long, boatman?”

“I’ll get you there, Grandfather.” The man said the word without a hint of respect. “Must have been rain in the uplands. The river’s running a bit faster than usual this time of year.”

The man grunted and pulled harder at the oars. The south shore lights bobbed. Pelut ducked beneath the canvas again, returning to the close and fetid sanctuary in the bottom of the boat. Bilgewater sloshed. He fought to keep his gorge down.

The thing that most frightened him was not the chance of being discovered. He’d already laid the groundwork to suggest he was undertaking an independent mission of peace to save lives and reunite families. He’d made inquiries, ordered reports, all of which would back up this contention. If Nelesquin killed him, or if he was discovered and killed by Cyron’s troops, the fiction would redeem him in the eyes of his people. His effort would be thought good-hearted, if misguided.

The prospect of meeting Nelesquin scared him. Pelut would have one chance to read him, find his weakness, and exploit it. There was no doubt that the man was vain-the manner in which he’d come to the negotiation that morning made that quite clear. Were Nelesquin stupid, vanity would be the way into his mind; but intelligent men always suspect treachery from flatterers. While they believe they deserve the flattery, they also know it is a means to an end. If they spy out the end and do not like it, their retribution is often swift and harsh.

The boat bumped against the quay. Cool air rushed over him as the canvas was peeled back. Pelut quickly mounted the ladder to the dock. He looked in vain for the agent who was to meet him. Then he felt the gentle flutter of a butterfly’s wings against his cheek. He turned and bowed.

Kaerinus shook his head. “No time for formalities. Follow me.”

Though the route they took through the riverside district seemed fairly direct, Pelut quickly found himself confused. This especially discomfited him, as he’d lived his entire life in Moriande and knew it very well-including the nether regions given over to Black Myrian’s control. He’d even met with a Desei agent in an opium den, arranging the failed assassination attempt against Prince Cyron.

The vanyesh brought him to a darkened doorway between a teahouse and a tavern. They ascended the stairs and entered a small room lit with a single lantern. As the door closed behind him, the light brightened, revealing Nelesquin eying him suspiciously.

Pelut bowed low and held it for even longer than protocol required. Instead of rising, he sank to his knees and pressed his face to the floor.

Nelesquin grunted. “So courtesy has not died in Moriande.”

Pelut shook his head. “Imperial Highness, I shall not waste your valuable time. I am your man, ready to serve you.”

“Sit up.”

Pelut did as he was bid.

Nelesquin, arms crossed, towered above him. “One pledged to me would do anything I asked of him. Is this true of you as well?”

“Ask, Imperial Highness.”

The Emperor’s expression tightened. “You are direct. It is a rare quality among bureaucrats. It pleases me. I would have you please me further.”

Pelut said nothing.

“And you know when to keep your mouth shut-another rare quality. I will have a use for you, Pelut Vniel; but you must prove your loyalty.”

“Of course, Imperial Highness.”

“So, I shall be direct with you.” The Prince’s expression hardened. “I want Prince Cyron dead. Make that happen, and you shall find a high place in my Empire.”

Dunos giggled. He’d never seen a butterfly quite like the one walking up and down his left arm. It was black and green. The geometric designs on its wings shifted shape with each beat. That wasn’t what made him laugh, though. Its journey up and down his arm-over the top of his robe and ring mail- tickled.

“Dunos?”

The boy smiled and held his hand up. “Hi, Ranai. It tickles.”

“What tickles?”

“The butterfly, see?”

“I don’t see it, Dunos.”

He glanced at his arm. The butterfly had gone, though he could still feel the tingle of its steps. “Well, it was here.”

“I’m sure.” The swordswoman smiled and joined him at the river wall. “What are you doing here?”

Dunos shrugged. Her voice had that mother tone to it, so he knew he had to answer. “Well, Master Tolo told me to find Master Dejote. I saw him here a couple of days ago. He’s not here. I decided to wait. And then there was the butterfly.”

“I didn’t see the butterfly, but I think it’s a good thing you’re exercising your arm. Does it feel better?”

The boy shrugged again. “I guess.” He brought his hand across his belly to the dagger at his right hip. “Easier to draw. My grip is tighter. We don’t have to tie the dagger into my hand anymore.”

“Well, we might still do that, just in case.” Ranai squatted down. “I remember you from the road, you know.”

“When you were going to rob me and my father and my grandfather?”

“Yes. You were the only one willing to step up to fight my companions and me.”

“And Master Tolo.”

“And Master Tolo.” Her eyes grew distant, as if the memory was years old, not months. “You remember he sent me south, to study at Serrian Istor?”

“Yes. And he sent me to Serrian Jatan with the robes of the man you’d killed.”

“True. The reason I ask is this. At Serrian Istor, I helped train boys just like you.”

Dunos’ face lit up. “You want to train with me? You’ve never wanted to before. We can do it right here. I’m good at Tiger and Dragon, you know.”

She held her hands up. “Slow down. Yes, I will train with you, but not just now.”

Dunos frowned. If she didn’t want to train with him right then and there, why mention it?

“Dunos, do you remember before the invaders came?”

He nodded. “Like when I found the glowing rock and it hurt my arm?”

“Yes, but not exactly.” Ranai went to a knee and rested her hands on his shoulders. That meant she was serious, so he had to listen. “Do you remember playing with friends and, you know, just having fun?”

She jerked her head in the direction of the Dragon Bridge. A half dozen ragged children capered and shrieked as Naleni Dragons made faces and roared at them. A couple of the boys started wrestling, and two of the girls whispered to each other.

“I remember.”

“Don’t you sometimes just want to go and have fun?”

Dunos’ eyes widened. “I have fun all the time. I really like killing vhangxi. It’s like cleaning fish, sort of, but they’re stinkier.”

“Dunos, killing is not supposed to be fun.”

Oh, this is going to be one of those talks. “I know that, Mistress Ameryne. It’s not fun. It is satisfying.”

That didn’t wipe the concern from her face. This puzzled Dunos, because the word “satisfying” usually worked with adults. She wanted some other answer, but she wasn’t very good at telling him what it was. Most adults were. If he said the right things, they would go away happy.

“Dunos, when I was your age, I didn’t worry about fighting and killing. I had fun. Just like those kids over there.” Ranai studied his face. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t you ever just want to have fun?”

He rested his hands on her shoulders so she had to listen. “Yes, I want to have fun. I remember the days before. Before the invaders, before I hurt my arm. I had fun. I ran around like them.” He smiled at the playing children. “I had lots of fun.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“But, Mistress, I also had work to do. I hauled water. I swept up. I cared for horses and mules and oxes.”

“Oxen, Dunos.”

“Oxen. I collected eggs from our chickens. I fed the hogs. I helped butcher one once. That wasn’t fun. I did lots of things to help my family. Some of those were fun. But I still had work, just like I do now.”

“But this is butchery, Dunos.”