"I think it's risky. I haven't gotten any solid intelligence out of the Connec. What little I do get suggests a stronger local strain of nationalism than outsiders perceive."

"Meaning?"

"That even the most devout adherents of the Church don't like outside meddlers. Due mainly to a plague of incompetent, corrupt, foreign bishops."

Honario Benedocto scowled fiercely. The air was filled with noise that he did not want to hear. He heard his judgment being questioned.

Hecht said, "When the command comes I'll do everything I can to turn the Maysalean Heresy into an odd memory. But you have to understand that Connectens are stubborn people. They're fiercely resentful of foreign intrusion. My spies say Connectens of every philosophical camp are fighting the refugees and Arnhander freebooters plaguing the province right now."

"I hear the same. While my legates are treated with scorn and dishonor. I don't understand it."

"Your Worship, only your advisers ever see you. The lies of your enemies take root because Chaldarean folk never see you. They don't know the real Sublime."

Hecht spouted nonsense in order to avoid being critical. Leaving the Patriarch with room to assume that all shortcomings had to be someone else's fault.

Hecht had no interest in giving Sublime tools that would make him a more realistic leader. In an actual campaign in the Connec he would be only as successful as he must to continue directing the Patriarchal armed forces. If Sublime survived to proclaim it, Hecht wanted to be in command when the crusade against Dreanger and the Holy Lands began.

"Can you expunge the Maysalean Heresy, Captain-General?" Sublime asked again.

"I will. It'll be difficult, though. King Peter found pagans still active on Shippen during the Calziran Crusade. After a thousand years of Chaldarean and Praman rule."

The Patriarch considered him in silence so long Hecht began to grow nervous. "May God forgive me," Sublime said. "But if they resist, kill them all. Without exception. God will know his own."

"Is this the time we've awaited? Are you directing me to act?"

"The wait is over. I have decided. I have no more patience with the Connec. Rid it of heresy. Bring the rebellious Episcopals to heel. I'll arm you with all the warrants, documents, and powers you require."

"As you command, Your Worship, so shall it be done. But the tool I need most desperately is specie."

"Come here, Captain-General. Pray with me."

Hecht followed instructions. And wondered what the Sha-lug would think, could they see him kneeling beside the Adversary's very viceroy in the Realm of War.

As he mumbled the rote formulas he focused on what needed doing before he took Sublime's army into the field.

Crash preparation consumed twenty-two days. Hecht got little sleep. And enjoyed more disappointments than successes. Despite Patriarchal promises.

There was little crusade enthusiasm outside Krois.

"You had a private audience?" Pinkus Ghort asked. Ghort was underfoot all the time, now. He had been appointed commander of the field brigade Brothe would contribute to the Patriarchal army. Principate Doneto insisted.

"I sure did. We prayed together, shared a meal, talked and talked and talked."

"What did you think? What's he really like?"

"He's crazy." They were outside and alone. He could speak freely. Within limits. "It was like being with three people who live inside the same body. He's inconstant. Excited for a while, then depressed. Convinced he wants a complete bloodbath of a war – till he decides thinking it's all a horrible idea foisted on him by his cronies. Only he won't name names."

"What I figured. Fits the rumors. Guess what? Bronte Doneto invited himself along."

Unsurprised, Hecht asked, "Think he misses the Connec?"

"Could be. He had such a wonderful time last time he went."

"I'm not thrilled." An impossible and stupid war was bad enough. Having the Patriarch's cousin perched on his shoulder could only make it worse.

Particularly if, as Principate Delari believed, that cousin was up to his nostrils in some grand scheme of his own.

Hecht scratched his left wrist and wondered how deeply Pinkus was involved in Principate Doneto's machinations.

Inspired letters and personal pleas to Katrin, before the Empress finally left Brothe, won Helspeth permission to go home to Plemenza instead of having to recross the Jagos to Alten Weinberg, where Katrin could keep her under thumb. Helspeth was determined to be the best younger princess she could. She wanted Katrin to have no excuse to deepen her misery.

Katrin had miseries of her own. The Council Advisory worked at creating them. Grand Duke Hilandle was especially unpleasant. Because of events during his desperate attempt to catch up with the Imperial procession before it reached Brothe, especially. Helspeth could not believe the stories the survivors told. They sounded like tales cooked up to conceal the wickedness of human monsters.

On reaching the Dimmel Palace Helspeth slept. For ten hours. Then she got up for a few, removed the road and ate, then slept some more. Then she dragged herself out. She had duties. She had been away a long time.

Those left behind had done well. Only a few whiners showed for the summary assizes. Their petitions were easily handled. Helspeth retreated to her quarters.

There had been changes among her women. Gruff Lady Chevra diNatale had gone home. Lady Delta va Kelgerberg had wheedled her way into Katrin's entourage. She had been replaced by Lady Hilda Daedal of Averange. Helspeth was glad to have her.

Lady Hilda was only a little older than she. Helspeth knew her from the Imperial court. Her husband's father had been a favorite of Johannes Blackboots.

Lady Hilda was a tall, slim blonde, in the mold of Katrin Ege. At twenty-three she had been married nearly nine years. She saw her husband Strumwulf just often enough to become pregnant regularly. She had given birth five times. Two of her children survived.

Lady Hilda's life appalled Helspeth. Yet it was typical of a woman of her class and time.

Despite all those pregnancies she remained attractive.

There were rumors. Lady Hilda might not be one hundred percent faithful to the Landgraf fon Averange. One suspected lover was her husband's father, Sternhelm, the Graf fon Sonderberg. Averange was a walled town inside Sternhelm's barony.

Other names mentioned all belonged to older men.

Lady Hilda was a Brothen Episcopal. "And I won't hide the truth, Princess," she told Helspeth. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on your religious practices. Though I'm not a fanatic myself."

"I don't understand. Katrin never showed any religious interest before Father died."

"It was there. Secretly. Because her mother was religious. What she's doing now is more about prying the fingers of the Grand Duke and Council Advisory off her throat. She'll be less devoted to Sublime once she rids herself of those foul old men."

"The men she's allying with aren't much better."

"They'll follow the Council. Katrin wants to be as powerful as your father was. Without having to give what he did on behalf of the Empire."

Helspeth doubted Lady Hilda. She had seen her sister regularly in Brothe. Not once had Katrin changed in private, in her suite in the Penital, when there were no witnesses.

Helspeth would not disagree with Lady Hilda. There was much she wanted to learn from the more experienced woman.

"What is that you keep fussing with?" Lady Hilda asked.

Helspeth had been reading a letter when Lady Hilda joined her. Searching for any missed nuance.

She dared all. Took a huge risk. Trusted a woman whose mind she did not know, for no better reason than that she liked her. "It's a letter."