A Practical Guide to Evil

Chapter Book 6 42: Castigation

“Do not look down on fear, my friend: it is the rare case of a voice in your head actually helpful to your survival.”

– Dread Empress Prudence, the ‘Frequently Vanquished’

I’d seen some profoundly beautiful things over the years. I sometimes liked to remind myself of that when the bad days came. I’d seen the first breaths of Liesse reborn under twilight, the peace born of a good man’s sacrifice. I’d walked the ancient cities of the Everdark, where flowers lit up the dark and poetry paved the streets as a riot of colours claimed the rooftops. I’d been hosted in the finest palaces of Salia, felt a storm sweep over me from the heights of the Tower and strolled through the mad bazaar at the heart of Skade. I’d even glimpsed the last glory days of Sephirah, before death came for it. I’d seen wonders enough to fill two lifetimes, and perhaps before I died I might see yet a few more. It felt good to remember that, to believe that.

But I’d known terrors the likes of which few could fathom, too, and it was those I would be calling on for this kind of work.

There was no lack of them to draw from. Black had preferred. I recalled, to use fear as a watchman’s cudgel: sparingly, measuredly, and always bluntly. He’d seen it as a tool, and not a particularly good one. But while my father had been my first teacher, he’d not been the only one. I’d learned from the Empress and the Diabolist, exemplars of the most horrifying Wasteland virtues, and then from even harsher creatures. The King of Winter and his patient, farsighted cruelties. Shrouded Sve Noc, a godhead born of fear and blood and kept hallowed through the same. Even the Dead King had, in his own way, been a teacher: you could not fight such a monster as long as I had without learning some of its ways. And so, honouring those many tutelages, I set to crafting horror.

I began with the smell.

Death had a particular reek to it. It came to the aftermath of battles along with the rest of the carrion, that stench of blood and shit and steel – with the rotting of flesh never far behind, even as the crows gobbled up the dead and flies burrowed into the flesh. I drew from the Doom, from the Battle of the Camps, but it wouldn’t be enough. Death come to a city wasn’t quite the same, even before stone and flesh began to burn green. A hint of the Hierarch’s madness spread through the streets of Rochelant, red hate bleeding out of every pore, and more from the burning blaze of green that’d begun at my very feet and devoured a fourth of Summerholm. All this I wove together and made my own, then slipped into the sleeping mind of Ambassador Livia Murena.

Her sleeping self sunk into the dark and gave me my opening: a glimpse of the winding streets and beautiful avenues of Mercantis. Night coursing through my veins like a river, eyes closed as I cut myself off from my senses and skimmed around the edge of the wards protecting the ambassador just the way Hierophant had taught me, I smiled and sunk my teeth into the older woman.

I began with murder. Livia Murena felt warm blood splash her face as a drow in the colours of the Losara opened the throat of a man with an obsidian blade. The ambassador screamed and stumbled away, wiping away with her hands and finding them soiled red. There was no relief to be found away from the drow. She turned the corner into an avenue only to find it burning green, legionaries dragging people out of houses and butchering them in the streets, eyes cold and hands steady. Livia Murena ran, finding a large plaza with a sprawling marble fountain, but painted Levantines of the Brigand’s Blood were there. Some amused themselves by drowning people, holding their heads under the water until the panicked scrabbling against the stone died, while others were pulling down a great statue with hammers and rope. Livia Murena let out a strangled sob, and as she did a painted warrior threw a barbed javelin at her that tore through the flesh of her shoulder.

Bleeding, in pain, she ran again.

She found only horror. Orcs tearing at the corpses of merchant lords with hungry fangs, armoured ogres smashing through villa gates to rip apart those huddling behind them, Taghreb and Soninke making bonfires of paintings and tapestries to roast the loot they’d ripped out of pantries over the corpses of their owners. Goblins made servants race only to shoot them in the back with crossbows, the drow blinded the young and let them bleed out screaming, jeering Callowans dragged entire families to the gallows to hang. Livia Murena wept but kept running until she found a tall house. Hers, I intuited, but it was not the house she sought. A wife, and though the face did not come to my mind’s eye long blonde tresses and fair skin did. It was enough.

Green flames and heavy smoked filled the halls of Livia Murena’s home as she raced through them and up, up the stairs and at the end of a too-long hallways where finally her great bedroom could be found. Relief as she found her wife standing there, besides the great canopy bed. Cassia, she exclaimed. With a crisp, resonating twang a coin went spinning. Livia Murena’s eyes went to it, spellbound, watched it rise and fall and land onto the open palm of the Black Queen, who had been sitting in the dark. The coin, shining gold, had landed on the side showing crossed swords.

“Do you believe in fate, Ambassador Livia?” I asked.

And before she could answer, her wife burned green. I drew on the screams from Three Hills, for that. I remembered those well. Cassia screamed and screamed and screamed, until mercifully she died. I met Livia Murena’s eyes and smiled, thin and sharp like a blade slid between the ribs.

“Not the right answer,” I told her. “Let us go again.”

And we did.

Mercantis was put to the sword and the coin showed swords and Cassia burned.

“Not the right answer,” I told the weeping ambassador. “Let us go again.”

And we did.

And we did.

And we did.

Nott until dawn did I let her learn the lesson this had been meant to convey. Cassia burned, the screaming having grown more vivid as the sleeping ambassador filled the gaps, and Livia wept exhaustedly as she fell on her knees. Like an old friend I leaned forward, offering a girlishly mischievous smile.

“Fate’s a trick, Livia,” I told her, and showed her the coin.

It had the crossed swords on both sides.

“The only way not to fall for it,” I said, gently smiling, “is not to flip the coin at all.”

I left her dreams alone, after that, but she slept not a wink anyway.

I was in Hakram’s infirmary room more often than my own quarters, or the offices made available to me – I’d pretty much handed those over to Vivienne – so it was there that messengers came to find me. It was the same with Archer, when she returned from the little errand I’d sent her on. I dipped my bread in the warm potage that was to be my morning meal, cocking an eyebrow at my friend.

“So?”

“Didn’t drive her mad,” Indrani replied, settling into the seat by my side, “but I’d bet it was a close thing.”

I popped the bread into my mouth and chewed on my mouthful thoughtfully. I’d walked the line just fine, then. If I kept doing this for too long I’d probably break the ambassador, which wasn’t the objective here, but I wanted at least one more night of this. Once could be dismissed as a fluke, but twice? Twice was a warning.

“What’d she look like?” I asked when I’d swallowed.

“Exhausted and twitchy,” Indrani said. “You really didn’t pull your punches there.”

“She needs to be more scared of me than she is of Malicia,” I replied, “and if we’re to get through this without Mercantis trying to blackmail the Grand Alliance, then I need that fear deep enough in the bone that they know exactly what the consequences of that would be.”

“Hey,” Archer shrugged, “you know me – I could care less if you want to turn the lot of them into gibbering wrecks. I’m just surprised it’s the two of us alone having this conversation, I guess.”

I threw her an unimpressed look. That had been less than subtle.

“If you have something to say, say it,” I told her.

She sighed, passing a hand through her long dark hair. Unbound, today, and a little messy. It suited her.

“You been fighting with Vivienne?” she asked.

My fingers clenched. She noticed it, unpleasantly perceptive as she was.

“So that’s a yes,” Archer mused. “I’d ask you if you want to talk about it, but I don’t think you’ve ever actually answered that question with a yes in your life.”

“That’s pretty rich, coming from you,” I flatly said.

Our last tense heart to heart had required half a fistfight to get started. She looked more amused than offended, waving the reply away.

“Sort that shit out, Cat,” Indrani said. “I won’t try to use sweet reason with you, because Gods know the odds on that are steep-”

“Hey,” I reproached.

“- but her sister cold-hearted logic will do,” Indrani blithely continued. “It’s too late for you to dismiss Vivienne from her place as your heiress: she’s got support, and when it comes to us she knows where a lot of bodies are buried. So if you won’t talk to her because she’s your friend and you’re being pissy for things not really her fault, then at least do it because otherwise you’re being a pretty terrible queen.”

I grimaced. Archer didn’t really care about Callow except maybe in the sense that a lot of her stuff was there and it’d affect some people she cared about if it got destroyed, but that didn’t mean she was unaware it was good angle to take with me. She wasn’t wrong, at least, that I couldn’t just let this go forever.

“I don’t like that I have to do things, now,” I admitted.

Indrani’s brow rose. I snorted.

“I mean that, when we disagree, I have to compromise with her now,” I explained. “Not always, and not on everything, but it still irks that I have to do it at all. I gave her the title in the first place, and ‘Drani it’s not that I think she’d done badly with it, on the contrary-”

“But she’s got power of her own now,” Archer finished. “And she doesn’t always agree with you.”

“I can’t just tell her to fuck off either, when we disagree,” I tiredly said. “If I do that in public she’ll lose a lot of support in the Army of Callow, and if she loses the Army there’s a lot less dissuading nobles from taking a swing at the crown down the line.”

It wouldn’t be a sure thing, and I was doing my best to polish her military record so that she’d have some reputation with the soldiers, but at the end of the day Vivienne just didn’t get on with them the way that I did. On occasion I’d taken some petty satisfaction in that, given how the nobility made no qualms of its preference for her and more people back home that I was comfortable with shared that opinion, but it was a hollow thing to embrace. After putting her in that position in the first place, how much of a prick would I have to be to relish her difficulties? It wasn’t a minor matter, either. There weren’t Dartwick household troops for Vivienne to call on, she had no personal holdings and most noble forces had either been abolished with their titles or curtailed under Imperial law. Within Callow, after the war it would the army Juniper and I had built that’d stand as the largest amount of people with swords.

My banner had the sword weighing more than the crown on the balance for a reason.

“I bet it’s like a burr in your boot that some of the folk back home like her better now,” Indrani knowingly said.

I breathed out, keeping my face calm.

“I’m starting to get tired of hearing that,” I evenly said.

She squinted at me.

“Yeah, that’s about the face you would have made,” Archer said. “And Viv’s never been great at handling your moods, so now you two fine ladies are in snit. Lovely.”

“It’ll pass,” I grunted.

“It’ll pass when you have a drink with her and you spell it out,” Indrani said. “But you already know that, Cat, you just don’t want to do it. I’m guessing you’ll get to it once you’re done tripping over the pride you keep claiming you don’t have.”

I flipped her off, but without much heat, and she took it in stride.

“Go find out what the Mercantis delegation will do to proper up their defences after tonight,” I said, having tired of this conversation the moment it began. “I want to know as soon as possible so I’ll know how to get around it.”

Another night of this, maybe two, and then I’d be ready for the talks. Even as she left, I began to consider the shape of the nightmare that would plague Livia Murena tonight.

It was not going to be any more pleasant that the last.

I’d let Hasenbach pick the room where, at long last, the diplomats would get their meeting.

I went to visit it beforehand though, to have a look at what I’d be working with. It was yet another hall from the seemingly endless supply of them the Arsenal had to offer, though this one was clearly not meant for meals. Multiple tables facing each other in half-circles, enough room between for servants to pass and no less than six ways in – as much for refreshments as the fetching of documents, I figured. Well lit, but with chandeliers and mage lights. I could work my way around both of those, I knew the tricks. It would do. I’d need to strike the right tone from the start, though. Come in alone and with not a thing in hand, when they’d be laden with attendants and papers.

I trailed a hand atop the smooth surface of the table, enjoying the grain of the wood, and frowned in thought. Ambassador Livia had only gone though another night of my tender attentions before I – Archer – had judged her to be on the ragged edge. Not a faint-hearted sort, that one, but I suspected a great deal more used to doling out cruelty than suffering it. Part of me wanted to throw in another night just to be sure, but there would be risks to that: the protective amulets the ambassador had worn after the first time might not have been a match for Night paired with the Hierophant’s eyes, but if the Mercantians asked for heroic protection this would get trickier. No, best to end it here.

Today, this very evening.

I napped through most of the afternoon, as using Night had been less than restful, and woke less than half a bell before we were due to hold the meeting. The clothes I was to wear were only of middling import, a simple grey tunic and matching trousers, but I made sure to wrap around myself the patchwork banners of the Mantle of Woe and set a jagged iron crown on my brow. With the last errand I’d asked of Indrani tucked away into my pocket and my dead staff of yew in my hand I limped to our appointed time, though with careful timing so that I would be the last to arrive. Not so late that it would be remarked upon, but just enough to be mildly insulting. The doors were opened for me by attendants, and even as my name and titles were announced I flicked an assessing glance at the people within.

That Cordelia Hasenbach had brought a number of scholars and secretaries was nothing unusual, but that she’d brought a full fifteen people with her was. She must have pieced together that she’d be handling the actual negotiations here mostly on her own. My gaze did not linger on them, instead moving to the delegation from Mercantis. Ambassador Livia Murena was easy to pick out from the rest: she sat at the centre, and her ostentatious gold and ivory chain of office was hard to miss. On the ivory medallion at the end of it thirty silver coins had been carved, the ancient crest of the merchant lords of the Consortium. Seven golden braids hung from her left shoulder, over a robe of deep blue silk that made it plain the ambassador was overweight.

Most of the diplomats were as well, for fat was considered a sign of wealth and power among the merchant lords of Mercantis. All wore blue silk and the seven braids denoting that they were here on the behalf of both Merchant Prince Fabianus and the Consortium itself – the prince’s business could carry three braids of gold, and the Consortium’s seven in silver, but only both in agreement could command the seven golden stripes – but for all the riot of bracelets and rings dripping from their arms and ears laden with and precious stones, no one save Ambassador wore anything around the neck. Each diplomat had an attendant standing behind them, all of them young and beautiful and utterly still. Mercantis did not practice slavery, it was said. Of the Free Cities, only Stygia still kept to that horror.

Yet Indrani had been raised a slave there, and called such, though no doubt if pressed her owner would have had papers proving it was mere bonded service. All very legal, nothing at all like slavery. That was the trick, you see: the ‘servants’ began with the debt of the sum it had cost to acquire them, and though they were paid for their work the roof and food they were provided cost them money. The debt increased, and the service continued until death – and then was passed onto children, for debts always carried in Mercantis. I kept that knowledge in mind, looking at the dark rings around Ambassador Livia’s pale brown eyes that cosmetics did not quite manage to hide, and found that guilt never came for the torturous horror I’d put this woman through.

I’d done worse to people a great deal less deserving.

“Queen Catherine,” the First Prince greeted me amiably. “I am glad of your presence.”

“Your Majesty,” Ambassador Livia said, tone even, “we are-”

“Let’s wrap this up quickly, Your Highness,” I interrupted, looking at Cordelia. “There’s a war on, in case you forgot.”

The ambassador was well-trained, so she did not betray her offence at the casually offered insult. It wouldn’t be the first I’d thrown her way since this started.

“I assure you, Your Majesty, that I have not,” the First Prince replied, eyebrows rising the faintest bit.

A warning to tone this down? No, I decided after a moment. She would have had other ways to reach me if restraint were called for. I slid into the seat at the edge of the part of the half-circle kept empty for myself and my delegation, seeing from the corner of my eye the dismay that flickered across some Mercantian faces when they realized I had come alone. That was not the mark of someone taking all this seriously. I drew lightly on the Night, softly, and wove a thread that slipped into the shadows beneath the table and to the side. It remained hidden, waiting. I leaned back into my seat, looking impatient, and waited for someone to speak.

“I must protest the insults you keep offering us, Queen Catherine,” Ambassador Livia said. “Has the Consortium not been a generous and understanding ally? What have we done to earn such treatment?”

This was the part, I thought, where I was supposed to demur and weave and bob and all those little diplomatic dances. So we could keep talking in precise truths and pretty lies, keep this all civilized as we tried to a war of words just as dangerous as one of steel. I did not bother.

“Either you genuinely don’t know the answer to that question,” I said, “and speaking with you is a waste of time. Or you do know the answer to that question, and you are still wasting my time. Which is it, Ambassador Livia?”

Her face tightened for the barest fraction of a moment before going almost unnaturally slack. That one had stung, huh. I glanced at the First Prince, whose face was the very definition of polite serenity.

“Is this serious?” I asked.

“It is, Queen Catherine,” Cordelia amiably replied, then half-glanced at the diplomats. “Though perhaps we should see to the purpose of this meeting, given the demands made by circumstance on all our hours.”

Under the table, she traced with a finger a Y against the Night. Yes, it meant. I was not to keep pushing them, she wanted this to advance.

“That would suit as well,” the man to the ambassador’s side smoothly said. “If there are no further objections?”

An expectant gaze went to me. Ambassador Livia had regained her calm on more than a surface level, so it was her I replied to.

“By all means,” I drily said. “The suspense has me all atwitter.”

“Given information recently acquired by the Consortium, it has become necessary to revisit the matter of the loans extended to the Grand Alliance,” the ambassador said.

N, Hasenbach’s fingers traced against the table. I pushed back my chair and rose to my feet.

“There are no such loans,” I flatly said. “As Lord Yannu Marave made exceedingly clear, I believe. This meeting is at an end.”

She looked, to my faint amusement, genuinely surprised. For career diplomats, they really weren’t catching on to this game quick. It wasn’t that they were fools, I thought, but simply that they weren’t used to so bluntly being dismissed. Mercantis might not be a power in the leagues of Praes or Procer, but it’d always been influential – and when crossed, it was not above spending coin to make its displeasure known.

“Perhaps the honourable ambassador refers to the loans extended to the Principate and its constituent principalities,” the First Prince mildly said. “I am sure the unfortunate wording will be rectified, Queen Catherine, if you give the ambassador opportunity to do so.”

I cocked a brow at the ambassador.

“We did not mean to imply that the Kingdom of Callow is indebted to the Consortium, Your Majesty,” Livia Murena lied. “My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

Barely refraining from rolling my eyes, I settled back into the seat.

“As was mentioned by our esteemed ambassador,” the man at Livia’s side said, pouty red lips offering up a smile, “the Consortium has learned of the particulars of Proceran debt. Given the almost… reckless borrowing practices that were used, doubts have been raised as to the capacity of the Principate of Procer to repay these debts.”

“Gods Below and Everburning,” I said, tone openly contemptuous. “You really are going to insist on being the Tower’s borrowed knife, aren’t you? No matter how many people warned me, I’d genuinely not believed that the Consortium would make that glaring a blunder.”

“A hollow accusation,” Ambassador Livia replied. “And one thrown very carelessly, I might add. There are limits to our tolerance, Queen Catherine.”

Y, Cordelia wrote. I changed course, snorting in feigned amusement.

“You know what?” I mused, “Maybe you’re right. I just assumed that you lot are going to try something as hilariously ill-advised as attempting to coerce an alliance that commands more soldiers on a single front than there are people in all of Mercantis. That was premature of me. Go on, then. Speak.”

I thinly smiled.

“Prove me wrong,” I said.

There was a beat of silence.

“We recognize the heroic contributions made by the Grand Alliance, and Procer in particular, to the safety of all Calernia,” Ambassador Livia said. “It is why we have been so willing to extend loans, and at rates with little precedent. The Consortium will continue to support the war effort however it can, rest assured that this is not in doubt.”

“That is most pleasing to hear,” Cordelia mildly said. “His Grace Fabianus has reconsidered my request to expel the Praesi embassy, then?”

I smothered a grin. She had them there, considering Malicia was the Dead King’s open – if rather lethargic – ally.

“The high court of the Consortium is debating such a measure, Your Highness,” Ambassador Livia smiled.

“Indeed,” Cordelia Hasenbach smiled back, just as pleasantly, “yet I recall hearing the debate was to be set aside indefinitely. Has this measure been revoked?”

“That is quite possible,” the ambassador evaded. “Given the length of our journey here, our news are grown quite out of date.”

“You were leading up to a ‘but’, Ambassador,” I said. “Do get on with it, instead of insulting the intelligence of everyone in this room.”

“While the Consortium remains firmly behind the war effort,” Ambassador Livia said, tone aggressively calm, “given the financial troubles of the Principate and its extensive amount of loans it has been suggested that assurances must be sought. Else a collapse of Proceran commerce could feasibly, in the coming years, bankrupt Mercantis itself.”

“A reasonable worry,” the fair-haired princess replied. “I have pondered this issue myself, as it happens. The Highest Assembly is willing to sign a treaty guaranteeing a set portion of the taxes collected by the office of First Prince until the debts are settled. Would such an assurance be acceptable to you?”

Promising coin that had yet to be collected, huh. I supposed that was one way to make up for lack of revenue. Mind you, if Cordelia’s eventually successor refused to pay up there honestly wasn’t that much that the Consortium would be able to do about it. Unless the treaty is guaranteed by the Grand Alliance itself, I thought, and glanced at Hasenbach. Even the most firebrand of First Princes would hesitate at antagonizing its two most powerful allies in such a way. Canny woman, I thought, not without fondness. It wasn’t like myself or the Dominion would refuse to be guarantors of this: it’d give us some leverage over Procer after the war, which given how short-lived Proceran gratitude tended to be would prove most welcome.

Somehow I doubted it was a coincidence that this arrangement would end up soothing some of the lingering fears about Procer belonging to the two nations Hasenbach wanted to keep as close allies. Circles within circles within circles, with this one.

“It would go some way in abating worries, Your Most Serene Highness,” Ambassador Livia replied, “yet to invest more coin into the war, the Consortium seeks more practical dividends.”

Ah, and there we were. Her eyes went to me but did not linger. She never looked at me for long, I was beginning to notice. Even when she was talking to me. The nightmares had left a mark, as they were meant to.

“It has come to the attention of Mercantis that plans are being drawn for a city to be raised at the heart of the Red Flower Vales,” the diplomat with the pale brown eyes said. “Cardinal, is it not?”

I drummed my fingers against the tabletop in open impatience.

“We recognize such a city for the opportunity it is,” Ambassador Livia said. “And so in place of further loans, the Consortium seeks instead to purchase monopolies on the trading of certain goods in Cardinal.”

I cocked my head to the side. Huh. That was cleverer than what I’d been expecting, actually. They had to know that purchasing land ceded by Callow and Procer was not a suggestion that’d go over well, but monopolies over trade that did not yet exist was another story. By putting up gold now they could get a stranglehold on certain kinds of trade down the line, effectively pushing out any competition by being the sole providers for long enough that people would grow used to relying on them. It was their old role as middleman made anew, I thought with a touch of admiration. The merchant lords were a greedy but they were not without wits. This was actually halfway reasonable, as far as demands went, which had me rather wary.

“And how long would these monopolies be expected to last?” the First Prince asked.

“Permanently,” Ambassador Livia said. “This would reflected in the price offered for them, naturally.”

I did not need Cordelia’s finger to trace the N to know this was not to be tolerated. So this was to be the pivot of this little adventure. Now they would push, or be pushed.

“Mercantis,” I said, enunciating the word slowly. “The City of Bought and Sold. The most impartial place there is to be had on Calernia, for coin is queen and it claims no party.”

“A lovely compliment, Your Majesty,” Ambassador Livia replied, smiling like a shark.

“Spell it out,” I said, learning forward. “What happens, when I laugh at this and tell you to crawl back to your island.”

I drew on Night. Slowly, quietly. The shadows of the room began to lengthen, in the spaces between the glow of the mage lights and the chandeliers.

“There is no need for such hostility,” the diplomat said. “We will not withdraw our support for the war effort, as I have said. Yet it would be difficult for the Consortium to consider extending further loans when it would be courting its own bankruptcy.”

Which sounded all nice and reasonable, until you knew what we knew. Hasenbach had told me that Malicia was almost certainly aware that Procer needed the flow of gold from Mercantis to keep its head above the water. Malicia had in turn told at least some of these fine fellows the piece of information. This had the Empress’s touch all over it, the more I saw the more it was obvious. As usual, Malicia had played to all the angles. Merchants not in the know would not consider ending loans to be enemy action, and if the Grand Alliance reacted harshly they might turn to the Tower for protection against our perceived tyranny. Merchants that were in the know, and there were bound to be a few, would consider us to be deep enough in the hole that they could extract concessions from us if they didn’t push it too far. No doubt the Empress had made promises of protection to encourage that perception, and leaked information about where our armies were.

Very far from Mercantis, the bottom line was.

“I’m curious,” I said. “You must believe – I can’t understand this, otherwise – that you have the upper hand here. And I have to ask, Gods, I really have to ask-”

The Night deepened, the light dimmed.

“Why?” I coldly asked. “Why is that you think that, exactly? Explain it to me.”

“No threat has been made, Queen Catherine,” the ambassador said. “Your behaviour is-”

“Let me tell you what happens,” I softly interrupted, “if you choose to become my enemy.”

I met Livia Murena’s eyes. Darkness deepened around us, and came a faint sound like the dying whisper of a scream.

“I will not be civilized,” I gently told her. “I will not keep to laws and treaties, to decency or the milk of human kindness. If you become the tool of a woman who has allied herself with the King of Death, if you willingly make that choice, then I will visit a ruin on you that will still haunt the sleep of men in a hundred years.”

She looked away, towards the First Prince.

“Your Highness-”

“Don’t look at her,” I said. “It won’t help. She can’t stop me, and she doesn’t particularly want to.”

The ambassador’s pudgy fingers tightened around her chain of office and she turned back to me, gathering her courage, but my hands had slipped in the pocket where I had stowed away my last surprise.

“Do you believe in fate, Ambassador Livia?” I asked.

She did not answer, eyes fixed on the golden coin in my hand. There were crossed swords on the side that could be seen. The other woman’s breathing went uneven, her hands trembled, and still I waited. Sweat drenched the back of her neck, smudged the cosmetics on her face, and in her eyes I saw reaped the terror that I had sown.

“Yes,” Livia Murena hoarsely answered. “Yes, I do.”

“Then let us keep to laws and treaties,” I said, my smile never reaching my eyes. “To decency and the milk of human kindness.”

Or else, I did not say. She heard it anyway.

I did not speak another word for the rest of the meeting, or need to.