" ‘S Umegat," said Orico to his sister, by way of introduction. "Runs this place for me. Roknari, but a good man anyway."

Iselle controlled a visible twinge of alarm and inclined her head graciously. In passable court Roknari, albeit improperly in the grammatical mode of master to warrior rather than master to servant, she said, ~Blessings of the Holy Ones be upon you this day, Umegat.~

Umegat's eyes widened, and his bow deepened. He returned a ~Blessings of the High Ones upon you too, m'hendi,~ in the purest accent of the Archipelago, in the polite grammatical form of slave to master.

Cazaril's brows rose. Umegat was no Chalionese half-breed after all, it seemed. Cazaril wondered by what convoluted life's chances he'd ended up here. Interest roused, he ventured, ~You are a long way from home, Umegat,~ in the mode of servant to lesser servant.

A little smile turned the groom's lips. ~You have an ear, m'hendi. That is rare, in Chalion.~

~Lord dy Cazaril instructs me,~ Iselle supplied.

~Then you are well served, lady. But,~ turning to Cazaril, he shifted modes, now to that of slave to scholar, even more exquisitely polite than that of slave to master, ~Chalion is my home now, Wisdom.~

"Let us show my sister my creatures," put in Orico, evidently growing bored with the bilingual amenities. He held up his linen napkin and grinned conspiratorially. "I stole a honeycomb for my bears from the breakfast table, and it will soak through soon if I don't rid myself of it."

Umegat smiled back and conducted them into the cool stone building.

The place was even more immaculate this morning than the other day, tidier by far than Orico's banqueting halls. Orico excused himself and dodged aside at once into one of his bears' cages. The bear woke up and sat up on his haunches; Orico lowered himself to his haunches on the gleaming straw, and the two regarded one another. Orico was very nearly the same shape as the bear, withal. He unwrapped his napkin and broke off a chunk of honeycomb, and the bear snuffled over and began licking his fingers with a long pink tongue. Iselle and Betriz exclaimed at the bear's thick and beautiful fur, but made no move to join the roya in the cage.

Umegat directed them to the more obviously herbivorous goat-creatures, and this time the ladies did go into the stalls, to stroke the beasts and compliment them enviously on their big brown eyes and sweeping eyelashes. Umegat explained that they were called vellas, imported from somewhere beyond the Archipelago, and supplied carrots, which the ladies fed to the vellas with much giggling and mutual satisfaction. Iselle wiped the last carrot bits mixed with vella slime on her skirt, and they all followed Umegat toward the aviary. Orico, lingering with his bear, languidly waved them on without him.

A dark shape swooped from the sunlight into the stone-arched aisle and fetched up with a flap and a grumble on Cazaril's shoulder; he nearly jumped out of his boots. He craned his neck to find it was his crow from his window this morning, judging by the ragged slot in its tail feathers. It flexed its clawed feet in his shoulder and cried, "Caz, Caz!"

Cazaril burst into laughter. "About time, you foolish bird! But it will do you no good now—I'm all out of bread." He shrugged his shoulder, but the bird clung stubbornly, and cried, "Caz, Caz!" again, right in his ear, painfully loudly.

Betriz laughed, lips parted in amazement. "Who's your friend, Lord Caz?"

"It came to my window this morning, and I attempted to teach it, um, a few words. I didn't think I'd succeeded—"

"Caz, Caz!" the crow insisted.

"You should be so attentive to your Darthacan, my lady!" Cazaril finished. "Come, Ser dy Bird, away with you. I have no more bread. Go find yourself a stunned fish below the falls, or a nice smelly dead sheep, or something... shoo!" He dipped his shoulder, but the bird clung stubbornly. "They are most greedy birds, these castle crows. Country crows have to fly about and find their own dinners. These lazy creatures expect you to put it in their mouths."

"Indeed," said Umegat, with a sly smile, "the birds of the Zangre are veritable courtiers among crows."

Cazaril swallowed a bark of laughter slightly too late and sneaked another look at the impeccable Roknari—ex-Roknari—groom. Well, if Umegat had worked here long, he'd had plenty of time to study courtiers. "This worship would be more flattering if you were a more savory bird. Shoo!" He pushed the crow from his shoulder, but it only flapped to the top of his head and dug its claws into his scalp. "Ow!"

"Cazaril!" the crow cried shrilly from this new perch.

"You must be a master teacher of tongues indeed, my lord dy Cazaril." Umegat smiled more broadly. "I hear you," he assured the crow. "If you will duck your head, my lord, I will endeavor to remove your passenger."

Cazaril did so. Murmuring something in Roknari, Umegat persuaded the bird onto his arm, carried it to the doors, and flung it into the air. It flapped away, cawing, to Cazaril's relief, more ordinary caws.

They proceeded to the aviary, where Iselle found herself as popular among the brilliant little birds from the cages as Cazaril was with the ragged crow; they hopped upon her sleeve, and Umegat showed her how to coax them to take grains from between her teeth.

They turned next to the perch birds. Betriz admired a large bright green one with yellow breast feathers and a ruby throat. It clicked its thick yellow beak, wobbled from side to side, and stuck out a narrow black tongue.

"This is a fairly recent arrival," Umegat told them. "I believe it has had a difficult and wandering life. Tame enough, but it's taken time and patience to calm it down."

"Does it speak?" asked Betriz.

"Yes," said Umegat, "but only rude words. In Roknari, perhaps fortunately. I think it must have once been a sailor's bird. March dy Jironal brought it back from the north this spring, as war booty."

Reports and rumors of that inconclusive campaign had come to Valenda. Cazaril wondered if Umegat had ever been war booty—as he had been—and if that was how he'd first been brought to Chalion. He said dryly, "Pretty bird, but it seems a poor trade for three towns and control of a pass."

"I believe Lord dy Jironal gained rather more movables than that," Umegat said. "His baggage train, returning to Cardegoss, took an hour to file through the gates."

"I've had to deal with slow mules like that, too," murmured Cazaril, unimpressed. "Chalion lost more than dy Jironal gained on that ill-conceived venture."

Iselle's eyebrows bent. "Was it not a victory?"

"By what definition? We and the Roknari princedoms have been pushing and shoving over that border area for decades. It used to be good land—it's now a waste. Orchards and olive groves and vineyards burned, farms abandoned, animals turned loose to go wild or starve—it's peace, not war, that makes wealth for a country. War just transfers possession of the residue from the weaker to the stronger. Worse, what is bought with blood is sold for coin, and then stolen back again." He brooded, and added bitterly, "Your grandfather Roya Fonsa bought Gotorget with the lives of his sons. It was sold by March dy Jironal for three hundred thousand royals. It's a wondrous transmutation, where the blood of one man is turned into the money of another. Lead into gold is nothing to it."

"Can there never be peace in the north?" asked Betriz, startled by his unusual vehemence.

Cazaril shrugged. "Not while there is so much profit in war. The Roknari princes play the same game. It is a universal corruption."

"Winning the war would end it," said Iselle thoughtfully.

"Now there's a dream," sighed Cazaril. "If the roya could sneak it past his nobles without their noticing they were losing their future livelihoods. But no. It's just not possible. Chalion alone could not defeat all five princedoms, and even if by some miracle it did, it has no naval expertise to hold the coasts thereafter. If all the Quintarian royacies were to combine, and fight hard for a generation, some immensely strong and determined roya might push it through and unite the whole land. But the cost in men and nerve and money would be vast."