“If the treaty is signed and ratified within ten days by both the Klingons and the Federation,” Kamemor continued, and then she paused, and it seemed obvious to Vaughn that she did not like the orders she had been given. “If the treaty is signed and ratified, then we will withdraw.”

Nobody responded for several seconds, and then Ambassador Endara said, “‘Withdraw’?”

“We will close our borders,” Kamemor declared.

Endara paged through the treaty again. “That does not seem to be in here,” he said.

“It is not,” Kamemor said, “because we of course wish to control our own space. But the praetor has chosen this direction, and he has the support of a majority of the Senate.” From Senator Ontken’s raised eyebrow, it seemed to Vaughn that he was likely not among that majority.

“Ambassador,” Endara said, “we do not seek to isolate Romulus. We would choose peace. We would choose friendship.”

“You will have one of those,” Kamemor said. “It is for you to decide if it is enough.” She leaned forward and reached for her copy of the treaty. She paged to its end, then pulled a writing implement from her sleeve and signed the document. “I have already signed your copies,” she told Kage and Endara. Then she hurried around the table, headed for the door. “N’Mest, Vreenak,” she said along the way, and her two aides followed her out.

In her wake, Kamemor left shock and uncertainty. But as much as what Ambassador Endara had said was true—that the Federation did seek friendship with the Romulans—Vaughn knew that the treaty would be signed, and that there would be peace.

And that, he knew, was something that he could definitely live with.

Chancellor Azetbur emerged from her private study into the large main room of her office. She skirted the dais situated just outside the door, and upon which sat the great chair that she occasionally used to receive official guests. Overlooking the conference table in the center of the room, the old throne had been passed down through a long line of chancellors, who had draped its wide back with various trinkets: a gold ceremonial sash, a scabbard, an ornamental chain, and other personal items. No matter where she stood in her office, her eyes always seemed drawn to a silver medallion her father had for years worn.

As she came out from behind the dais, Azetbur noted the chill in the room. A cold snap, unexpected at this time of year, had enveloped the city as the sun had set. The wintery air invigorated her, though it had grown too frosty now even for her tastes, her breath puffing out in front of her in a pale cloud. Rinla, her assistant, had already closed the dozen tall, peaked windows in the outer wall, she saw.

A hammering sound, three loud knocks, filled the room, the noise echoing off of the stone blocks of the walls. Azetbur looked to the timepiece standing beside the great chair and saw that her visitor had arrived late. She presumed the disrespect to be deliberate. How could she have believed otherwise of this man who wanted her dead, who might even have requested this meeting to in some way further that end?

With calm and deliberate movements, Azetbur stepped up onto the dais, turned, and assumed her place on the great chair, various of the mementos there rattling as she sat. She waited until the knocks came again. “Enter,” she called.

The doors to her office opened, each of the pair of floor-to-ceiling panels pushed inward by a guard. Kaarg’s officers,she thought. She had taken his point about the uncertain trustworthiness of the members of Klingon Internal Security who normally protected the Great Hall and the chancellor. For now, Azetbur had reassigned those officers elsewhere.

General Gorak walked forward into the room, his strapping form impressive in his military uniform. As he advanced toward Azetbur, she saw a sheathed ritual sword lashed to his side, as well as a horde of medals adorning his chest plate. Her right hand found and gripped the top of her walking stick, which leaned against the side of the throne; it galled her to be in the presence of a man considered a hero of the Empire, but who she knew wanted to betray her. She did not fear him, especially not at this moment, with Kaarg’s officers just outside; Gorak had kept his designs in the shadows, demonstrating his cowardice, no matter his military record. He would not act against her right now with reprisal just beyond the doors—although Azetbur had not been averse to the other precaution that Kaarg had suggested.

But while she did not fear Gorak, she had tired of his continual, concealed threat. When Kaarg had informed her of the traitor’s request for a meeting, she had concurred with his counsel to grant that request, in the hope that she could learn more of Gorak’s intentions. With the Romulan menace sufficiently defused, and relations with the Federation stabilized, she wanted to focus now on securing her position and addressing domestic issues.

Azetbur waited for the general to stop in front of her before she spoke. “Gorak,” she said, choosing to deliver the minor dishonor of omitting his rank.

“Chancellor,” the general said, his breath blowing out in front of his face in gray wisps. Then he actually bowed his head. His fraudulence turned her stomach. She had to defy the urge to heft her walking stick and pound his head with it.

“You appear…rested, General,” she said, an oblique reference to the month of peace they’d experienced since the Romulans had pulled back into their space and closed their borders. She did not know how long that would last, of course, but she had begun lobbying the High Council to begin applying Klingon resources elsewhere than at the edge of Romulan space. Gorak had publicly supported such a shift in policy, but Kaarg had informed her that such was not the case in private.

“I am rested,” he said readily, not appearing to perceive her veiled insult.

No one can be insulted less,her father used to tell her, than those who deserve insult most.“Your wing departs Qo’noS tomorrow,” Azetbur said, her voice rising at the end, not as a question, but to invite comment. She typically did not track the movements of the Klingon Defense Force closely enough to know where individual officers would be—not in peacetime, anyway. Gorak would know that, and so her awareness of his coming assignment would send him a message that she was watching him carefully.

“Yes, we leave at dawn,” the general confirmed. “We are planning a defensive sweep along the Gorn border.”

“Are you expecting trouble from the Gorn?” Azetbur asked.

“I am not ‘expecting’ trouble,” Gorak said, “but it is always a good idea to watch your enemies and potential enemies, and to let them know that you’re watching.”

Azetbur smiled, despite her impression that the general had begun to bait her. “I agree,” she said. She understood and appreciated this type of exchange. Gorak might not have been speaking plainly, but at least he was speaking to her,in the light and not from the shadows. She suddenly held out hope for this meeting. “And what of enemies here on Qo’noS?” she asked. “How will you manage to monitor them while you are gone?”

“Chancellor?” Gorak asked. “I don’t believe I have enemies on Qo’noS.” He seemed to reconsider his words, and then added, “I suppose I must, but none worth watching so closely.”

Azetbur rose quickly to her feet, bridling at the general’s arrogance. Bad enough that he plotted to overthrow her, to take her life, and now he stood here and slighted her? “Why are you here, Gorak?” she said, lifting the saber-tooth walking stick and thumping it once on the dais.

“I am here at your behest, of course,” he said.

Azetbur grew tired of the game. She descended onto the floor and closed to within an arm’s length of the general. “What is your purpose in requesting this meeting?” she said angrily. “State either your true reason or the false one you intended to give, but tell me one of them now.”