Cazaril could not, alas, respond to this with a very well put. He instead turned off the remark with a mumble of, "It's the weather, I suppose. It makes everyone dull and drab."

Palli stood back and stared him up and down. "Weather? When last I saw you, your skin was not the color of moldy dough, you didn't have black rings around your eyes like a striped rock-rat, and, and, you looked pretty fit, not—pale, pinched, and potbellied." Cazaril straightened up, indignantly sucking in his aching gut, as Palli jerked a thumb at him and added, "Royesse, you should get your secretary to a physician."

Iselle stared at Cazaril in sudden doubt, her hand going to her mouth, as if really looking him for the first time in weeks. Which, he supposed, she was; her attentions had been thoroughly absorbed by her own troubles through these late disasters. Betriz looked from one of them to the other, and set her teeth on her lower lip.

"I don't need to see a physician," said Cazaril firmly, loudly, and quickly. Or any other such interrogator, dear gods.

"So all men say, in terror of the lancet and the purgative." Palli waved away this stung protest. "The last one of my sergeants who developed saddle boils, I had to march in to the old leech-handler at sword's point. Don't listen to him, Royesse. Cazaril"—his face sobered, and he made an apologetic half bow to Iselle—"May I speak to you privately for a moment? I promise I shall not keep him from you long, Royesse. I cannot linger."

Gravely, Iselle granted her royal permission. Cazaril, quick to catch the undertone in Palli's voice, led him not to his office antechamber but all the way down the stairs to his own chamber. The corridor was empty, happily. He closed his heavy door firmly behind them, to thwart human eavesdroppers. The senile spirit smudges kept their confidences.

Cazaril took the chair, the better to conceal his lack of grace in movement. Palli sat on the edge of the bed, folded his cloak beside him, and clasped his hands loosely between his knees.

"The daughter's courier to Palliar must have made excellent time despite the winter muds," said Cazaril, counting days in his head.

Palli's dark brows rose. "You know of that already? I'd thought it a, ah, quite private call to conclave. Though it will become obvious soon enough, as the other lord dedicats arrive in Cardegoss."

Cazaril shrugged. "I have my sources."

"I don't doubt it. And so have I mine." Palli shook his finger at him. "You are the only intelligencer in the zangre that I would trust, at present. What, under the Gods' eyes, has been happening here at court? The most lurid and garbled tales are circulating regarding our late Holy General's sudden demise. And delightful as the picture is, somehow I don't really think he was carried off bodily by a flight of demons with blazing wings called down by the Royesse Iselle's prayers."

"Ah... not exactly. He just choked to death in the middle of a drinking fest, the night before his wedding."

"On his poisonous, lying tongue, one would wish."

"Very nearly."

Palli sniffed. "The lord dedicats whom Lord Dondo put in a fury—who are not only all the ones he failed to buy outright, but also those who've grown ashamed of their purchase since—have taken his taking-off as a sign the wheel has turned. As soon as our quorum arrives in Cardegoss, we mean to steal a march on the chancellor and present our own candidate for Holy General to Orico. Or perhaps a slate of three acceptable men, from which the roya might choose."

"That would likely go down better. It's a delicate balance between..." Cazaril cut off, loyalty and treason. "Too, dy jironal has his own powers in the temple, as well as in the Zangre. You don't want this infighting to turn too ugly."

"Even dy Jironal would not dare disrupt the temple by setting soldiers of the son upon soldiers of the daughter," said Palli confidently.

"Mm," said Cazaril.

"At the same time, some of the lord dedicats—naming no names right now—want to go farther. maybe assemble and present evidence of enough of both the Jironals' bribes, threats, peculations, and malfeasances to Orico that it would force him to dismiss dy Jironal as chancellor. make the Roya take a stand."

Cazaril rubbed his nose, and said warningly, "Forcing Orico to stand would be like trying to build a tower out of custard. I don't recommend it. Nor will he readily be parted from dy Jironal. The Roya relies on him... more deeply than I can explain. Your evidence would need to be utterly overwhelming."

"Yes, which is part of what brings me to you." Palli leaned forward intently. "Would you be willing to repeat, under oath before the daughter's conclave, the tale you told me in Valenda about how the Jironals sold you to the galleys?"

Cazaril hesitated. "I have only my word to offer as proof, Palli. too weak to topple dy Jironal, I assure you."

"Not alone, no. But it might be just the coin to tip the scale, the straw to light the fire."

Just the straw to stand out from all the others? Did he want to be known as the pivot of this plot? Cazaril's lips screwed up in dismay.

"And you're a man of reputation," Palli went on persuasively.

Cazaril jerked. "No good one, surely... !"

"What, everyone knows of Royesse Iselle's clever secretary, the man who keeps his own counsel—and hers—the Bastion of Gotorget—utterly indifferent to wealth—"

"No, I'm not," Cazaril assured him earnestly. "I just dress badly. I quite like wealth."

"And possessing the Royesse's total confidence. And don't pretend a courtier's greed to me—with my own eyes I saw you turn down three rich roknari bribes to betray gotorget, the last while you were starving near to death, and I can produce living witnesses to back me."

"well, of course I didn't—"

"your voice would be listened to in council, Caz!"

Cazaril sighed. "I... I'll think about it. I have nearer duties. Say that I'll speak in the sealed session if and only if you think my testimony would be truly needed. Temple internal politics are no business of mine." A twinge in his gut made him regret that word choice. I fear I am afflicted with the goddess's own internal politics, just now.

Palli's happy nod claimed this as a firmer assent than Cazaril quite wished. He rose, thanked Cazaril, and took his leave.

Two afternoons later, Cazaril was sitting unguardedly at his worktable mending his pens when a page of the Zangre entered his antechamber and announced, "Here is Dedicat Rojeras, in obedience to the order of the Royesse Iselle, m'lord."

Rojeras was a man of about forty, with sandy red hair receding a little from his forehead, freckles, and keen blue eyes. The man's trade was recognizable by the green robes of a lay dedicat of Cardegoss's Temple Hospital of the Mother's Mercy that swung at his brisk step, and his rank by the master's braid sewn over his shoulder. Cazaril knew at once that none of his ladies could be the quarry, or the Mother's Order would have sent a woman physician. He stiffened in alarm, but nodded politely. He rose and turned to convey the message to the inner chambers only to find Lady Betriz and the royesse already at the door, smiling unsurprised greetings to the man.

Betriz dropped a half curtsey in exchange for the dedicat's deep bow, and said, "This is the man I told you about, Royesse. The Mother's senior divine says he has made a special study of wasting diseases, and has apprentices who've traveled from all over Chalion to be taught by him!"

So, Lady Betriz's excursion to the temple yesterday had included more than prayers and charity offerings. Iselle had less to learn about court conspiracies than Cazaril had thought. She'd certainly smuggled this past him smoothly enough. He was ambushed, and by his own ladies. He smiled tightly, swallowing his fear. The man had none of the luminous signs of second sight about him; what could he tell from Cazaril's mere body?