“I hereby rescind all laws that apply only to folk possessed of arcane abilities. Henceforth, sorcerers need not have their palms tattooed. They can live where they like, assemble as they like, and practice their arts as they like, provided they do no harm. Priests and scholars are forbidden to teach the false and pernicious belief that all arcane magic derives from the lower worlds, and those who seek to persecute warlocks and wizards will face severe reprisals.”

No one cheered for that declaration either. Jhesrhi supposed that in its way it had shocked the assembly as much as Tchazzar’s unequivocal claim to godhood, and was surely less popular. Luthcheq had always loved to hate her kind. Well, choke on it, you ignorant bastards, she thought.

“There will be more new edicts in the days to come,” Tchazzar said. “Bold new ideas and ventures to make Chessenta into the great land it was always meant to be. But for now, celebrate my ascension! Your lord has provided for your needs. You’ll find food and drink on every corner, and musicians, jugglers, and players performing for your amusement in every street!”

That got them clapping and shouting again. Tchazzar turned in a swirl of scarlet cloak and headed into the War College.

As Aoth followed Tchazzar into the fortress, he made psychic contact with Jet. Everything all right? he asked.

If that strutting jackanapes is a god, the black griffon replied, the world is even worse off than I thought.

Aoth snorted. I have a more specific criticism of his performance. But I’ll be sure to give him your opinion.

Once through the doorway, he found that Tchazzar had stopped on the other side to accept congratulations. Trampling the rules of protocol, Zan-akar Zeraez, the Akanulan ambassador, had somehow managed to make himself first in line. Maybe everyone else had hesitated to crowd the genasi for fear of the sparks that crawled and popped on his deep purple, silver-etched skin.

While Aoth waited his turn, Nicos Corynian approached him. Trimly built, with a broken nose and a cauliflower ear that bespoke the Chessentan enthusiasm for the more violent forms of athletic competition, Nicos was in theory the Brotherhood’s patron, although the relationship was slightly muddled. The nobleman had hired the sellswords to serve the crown, and Shala had in fact accepted their service in due course.

And now she wasn’t the monarch anymore. Aoth sighed and wondered why nothing was ever simple.

“I’m sorry the war hero didn’t mention you during his address,” he murmured. “I trust he’ll prove more appreciative in private.”

Nicos shrugged. “He didn’t mention you either,” he replied just as softly, “or your man Ulraes, although I gather he had as much to do with the rescue as the wizard. I assume it’s because we’re not supposed to talk about the fact that His Majesty needed to be rescued.”

“That’s fine by me,” said Aoth. “We want the troops to think he’s invincible. They’ll fight better.”

Smiling, Tchazzar turned in their direction. “What did you think of my little oration?”

“It was inspirational,” Nicos said.

For a heartbeat Aoth wondered if it wouldn’t be better to say something just as empty and let it go at that. Then he decided, to the Hells with it. He was a soldier, not a courtier, and he’d talk like what he was, especially with Chessenta facing war.

“You said some things I didn’t expect,” he said, “and left out one thing I did.”

Tchazzar smiled. His teeth were white and even, as flawlessly handsome as the rest of him. “I was addressing my children for the first time in a hundred years. I had to speak my heart, even if it meant deviating from the script.”

“I understand that, Majesty. But I thought you were going to tell everyone that the creatures behind the Green Hand murders weren’t really dragonborn at all, but rather fiends conjured from the netherworld.” By the Black Flame, he and Cera had damn near died penetrating that particular secret!

“Unfortunately,” Tchazzar said, “it isn’t always possible to address every topic of interest in a single speech.”

“I understand that too. But this particular topic is important. At a time when Chessenta needs friends, you could have reestablished the alliance with Tymanther.”

“Tymanther has its own problems,” Tchazzar said. “They won’t be lending us troops anytime soon.”

“Still, it might hearten the people to know they don’t truly have enemies lurking across every border.”

“Perhaps at the cost of rekindling their suspicions of those they were originally inclined to blame-the mages. Which would violate the spirit of my pledge to Lady Jhesrhi.”

A pledge she exacted without consulting me, Aoth thought bitterly.

Not that he didn’t agree with it in principle. How could he not, considering that he was a war-mage himself? But the Brotherhood hadn’t come to Chessenta to spread justice and enlightenment. After two brutal campaigns that had diminished their ranks, produced little profit, and tarnished their name, they’d come to fill their coffers and rebuild their reputation fighting the country’s wars. And it wouldn’t help to have the people at large blame them for an unpopular edict.

“And now, if you’ll excuse me …” Tchazzar said. He was already turning and smiling at Luthen, Nicos’s chief political rival.

Gaedynn was the son of minor nobility and knew how to behave like a gentleman when it suited him. In some parts of Faerun that meant gorging on whatever viands the host provided, to show appreciation for his largess. In Chessenta, with its mania for physical fitness, a fellow made a good impression by merely picking at the refreshments or ignoring them entirely.

But that night, he didn’t care. He and Jhesrhi had spent a hard, hungry time of it trapped in the Shadowfell. He’d be in the field soon, where the timing and quality of meals were always uncertain. Accordingly he meant to eat as lustily as Khouryn would in his place. And if his voracity repulsed any ladies worth charming, then he’d just have to try a little harder.

He had the lackeys behind the serving tables heap his plate with suckling pig, chicken breast with blueberry glaze, peas, buttered dark rolls, and slices of candied peach. His mouth watering, he turned away from the buffet, then froze.

Jhesrhi had come up behind him, but not a Jhesrhi he’d ever seen before. Some maid-or more likely a whole squad of them-had arranged her golden hair in an intricate coiffure and dressed her in a scarlet brocade gown. Rubies glittered on her earlobes and around her neck. Her attendants had even managed to pry the staff out of her hand.

“Good evening, milady,” he said. “You bear an uncanny resemblance to a wizard of my acquaintance. But she shuns occasions such as this.”

Jhesrhi scowled. “I couldn’t shun this one. The war hero told me to come and gave me this … outfit to wear. He wanted me to have myself announced too, but that was too much. I came in one of the side doors.”

Gaedynn grinned. “Well, you arrived before the dragon, so he’ll never know about your breach of protocol.”

Jhesrhi hesitated. “I’ve never worn anything like this. Does it look all right?”

She looked ravishing, but he realized he didn’t want to say so. Maybe it was because they’d already gone down the road of compliments and fond blandishments and found out that for them, it led nowhere at all.

“The important thing,” he said, “is that after tonight, you’ll be able to sell it all for a tidy sum.”

Something moved behind her amber eyes, and he wished he could take his answer back. Then the trumpeters blew a brassy fanfare, and, attired in crimson velvet and cloth of gold, Tchazzar came through the high arched doorway at the end of the room. The open leaves framing the entrance sported carvings of high points from the dragon’s previous reigns.