Loethar had banished everyone from the chapel, including Father Briar, who, to Loethar’s annoyance, seemed unable to contain his grief. “You may admit my mother when she is brought here,” he said to the weeping priest as he shooed him away, bolting the doors behind him.
Finally he turned to regard the pale, thin body. He couldn’t believe that Freath was dead; realized he was holding his breath as he regarded the man who had become such an important counsel to him…someone he might even have called a friend in his innermost thoughts. Freath’s death was so random, so unexpected, so wrong! He pulled back the rest of the shroud abruptly and stared at the ugly wound. There was no doubting it had come from a sword; both sides of the wide cut were neat, the flesh had been sliced through with ease and with no jagged edges. A big sword too. Freath would have known it was being drawn, he had been facing his attacker. Loethar checked Freath’s hands. They looked like the white stone quarried in Gormand, but with a mottled pattern of blood, and they certainly felt as chill as marble. He balled one of his own hands into a fist, unconscious of the rage building because inside he felt as cold as Freath did. Cold rage, his mother often accused him of possessing.
Freath’s hands showed no sign of lacerations. So he had put up no fight, and it didn’t seem as though he had gripped the sword sticking from his belly as most people in shock might do. From what Loethar could tell Freath must have seen his attacker, did not resist him, took his death without a real struggle. Why?
Other questions bloomed behind this. Why was he found in the mountains, not in the inn? Why did he leave the inn in the first place? If he was taken by his attackers, against his will, surely he would have put up some sort of struggle? And where did they take him? Where did Freath die? The mountain gateway was too busy, but then again that sort of activity would have provided good cover if the assailants had known how to make the best use of crowds.
Loethar walked around the body, lost in contemplation. He circumnavigated Freath a dozen times perhaps, slowly pacing, thinking. And then he came to a final dread conclusion. Freath had known his attacker.
A soft knock at the door distracted him. He looked up, vexed, but he knew who it would be and could not ignore it. Loethar returned to the door and unbolted it. Father Briar stood next to two servants who carried Dara Negev in a special chair Loethar had had constructed for this very purpose. She looked like one of the royals he’d heard stories about from the exotic land of Percheron, carried around in covered seats by slaves.
“You summoned me,” his mother said, her voice cutting through the thick silence.
“Thank you for coming,” he replied.
“As if I had a choice,” she remarked. “Set me down and leave me,” she ordered, obviously sensing that her son wanted total privacy. As the two servants did so, Loethar addressed the priest.
“Father Briar, you cleaned up Freath’s body, am I right?”
“Yes, my lord. It was my unhappy plea sure to do this for him.”
Loethar nodded. “Did you notice anything?”
Briar blinked. “Such as, my lord?”
Loethar blew out his cheeks. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for either. He shrugged. “I don’t really know, anything that might give us a clue as to where he was when he was ultimately attacked.”
Briar began to shake his head. “His clothes were—.” Then he hesitated.
“Were what?”
Briar looked back at him. “Sorry, er, his clothes were dusty, which I’d expect from his travels, but now that you mention it I did notice a few pine needles clinging to the folds of his garments.”
“Pine needles?” Loethar repeated.
The priest nodded. “Is that helpful, my lord?”
“I don’t know yet. Send a runner to fetch General Stracker, would you?”
“Of course,” Briar said. He bowed to Loethar and nodded graciously at Dara Negev before departing.
Loethar’s mother didn’t notice; her attention was riveted on the corpse. “I thought it was a mistake when I was told.”
“I hoped it was,” he replied.
“How?” she wondered. “He wasn’t young but he was barely into his sixth decade, surely, and spry?”
“He didn’t die, Mother, he was murdered,” Loethar snapped. Angrily, he hauled back the shroud again to reveal the wound. Dara Negev’s mouth opened in response but no words came as she regarded the deep wound. Finally, she spoke. “Who knew that Freath was going north with this news of increased taxes?”
Loethar had to admire his mother. She had cut through all of the obvious exclamations and pointless jabber, straight to the heart of what mattered most. “No one. Only myself, Stracker and the men who accompanied him.”
“Did his wizard go with him…if you could call him that? I’ve seen no sign of any magics with that one,” she said with disgust.
Loethar smirked. “I think that was the point of why we allowed Freath to have Master Kirin in the first instance. His powers are so weak—if he has any—as to be negligible. But Master Kirin is intelligent and I’ve found his help around the library and with the new academy of learning we’ve established in Penraven to be extremely competent. I have no gripe with him. But you raise an important point.”
“Well, he’s the first person you should interrogate. I can’t say I’ll be mourning Freath, Loethar. I don’t like traitors and the man betrayed his own with barely a look over his shoulder.”
“You know as well as I do how valuable Freath has been to me.”
“I’ve never quite let go of the notion I had when I first met him that he was not entirely honest. He struck me as being more than simply a man arriving where the wind blew him.”
It was an old Steppes saying and Loethar nodded. “I’m sure he wasn’t, considering that barbarian invaders were spilling through the stronghold of the famed Valisars.”
“No, it was more than that, son. Freath was calculating. He was charming and eloquent, his intelligence was vast, but he was a man of shadows.”
Loethar shrugged. “Any man who betrays his king would have to become careful. He hadn’t given me any cause this past ten anni to consider him anything but committed to the empire, if not necessarily devoted to us.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “So if no one but you and Stracker, the wizard and his escort knew of his arrival in the north, who could spring such an attack?”
His mother’s suspicions were talking directly to his own. The whole notion of a random attack felt less and less likely.
“In fact,” she continued, “for him to be found anywhere but where he should be…am I right that he was discovered out in the open?” When he nodded, she continued, “Well, it suggests to me that in the first instance, that what ever reason he was outside of the inn and perhaps beyond the town’s center, he was there willingly.”
Loethar’s eyes narrowed. “That’s how I feel. My suspicions are that Freath went willingly from the inn where he was supposed to be staying. In fact—” He paused as Stracker entered. “Ah, there you are.”
“Mother,” Stracker said, “you look well today.”
She gave him a look of disdain. “I’m eighty-one anni, son. This is how I look.”
Stracker’s tatua moved as he grinned. He glanced briefly at Freath. “I’ve got the eldest of the trio of escorts outside.”
“Go ahead,” Loethar said.
Stracker paused. “I had no time for Freath but I’m angry anyone under our escort is dead. That said, I have no reason to mistrust his escorts and neither have you. All of them are handpicked and reliable. At Freath’s bidding they took a couple of hours’ relaxation before returning to The Lookout. The Blue checked with the staff and according to them Freath and his sidekick did not leave the inn during that time. They emerged later from their shared room for an evening meal. We even know what they ate. As you heard, our men returned to the inn during the evening and saw Freath. There was nothing untoward, nothing unusual.”
“He was talking to a stranger,” Loethar reminded him.
“Yes, but in broad view of everyone. The serving girl said they didn’t seem to know one another. From what she could remember, they simply began passing the time of day as she offered to refresh their ales.”
“Perhaps that’s how it was meant to appear,” Loethar said.
“Our men only left him alone a short while.” Loethar frowned and opened his mouth but Stracker held up a hand. “And before you ask, the time between when they last noticed him and noticed he was gone was just moments. The time it took to take a few sips of ale.”
“So he was bundled out of the inn, possibly?” their mother offered.
“I doubt it,” Stracker replied. “Imagine trying to steal a man away in front of dozens of others in a busy inn! His reluctance to go would create a disturbance. And they didn’t drug the ale; our men tasted what was in Freath’s cup. It’s just not feasible to get him out of the inn easily—”
“Unless he wanted to go,” Loethar finished.
“Well, yes,” Stracker conceded, frowning, “but why would he want to go?”
“I can’t tell you, I wasn’t there,” Loethar replied, his tone bordering on acid. A glare from his mother wiped away the scowl he had directed at his half-brother.
Stracker didn’t seem to notice either of them. “All right, then. But how would he leave without our men noticing him?”
Loethar sighed. “I told you. They created a distraction. It’s the oldest trick going. What were they doing when this was occurring, sitting around a table chatting?”
Stracker shrugged. “Let’s ask.” He walked to the door, opened it and mumbled something.
Loethar recognized the experienced, senior member of the Blues who entered. “Hello, Jib,” he said, the man’s name coming to him.
“Emperor,” Jib said, nodding politely. “Dara Negev,” he added, bowing to the old woman. His fist went to his heart. “General Stracker.”
Stracker nodded. “Jib, tell us what was occurring when you and the men arrived at the inn.”
Jib shrugged as though it wasn’t worth even mentioning. “The usual sort of Denovian recreation. It was crowded and the mood was jovial. Everyone was drinking, even Master Freath. He had finished his meal and was sitting not that far from us across the chamber at the back.”
“He was not alone, though,” Loethar confirmed.
“It was crowded, my lord, and he was near a lot of people because of the happy mob. At one point he exchanged a few words with the man next to him, who had his back to us. From his gestures I think he looked to be explaining the game that was underway.”
Loethar nodded at Stracker, who took up the questioning.
“From what you told me before, nothing was unusual and Freath appeared relaxed.”
“Yes, general. He raised his mug to me to acknowledge us as we entered. We pushed through to the counter, ordered some ales and then moved to a table.”
“A table?” Loethar quizzed.
“Yes, my lord.”
“If it was so crowded, how could you so easily find somewhere to sit?”
Jib nodded. “It’s true, it was shoulder to shoulder in there because it is the most popular watering hole in the town. But everyone was on their feet watching a game of arrows. I haven’t seen this game before; I think it’s only played in the north. A big man was taking his turn, and doing very badly. He was very amusing and everyone was betting against him.”
“Did you?”
“No, my lord. We only watched, we didn’t gamble.”
“I see, and then when you moved to find Freath he was gone?”
“Yes, my lord. When the contest was over and everyone was moving back, I decided I should work out the plan for the next day with Master Freath, but he had disappeared.”
“All right, Jib.”
The man glanced over at the shrouded body, only now perhaps fully realizing who was laid out and covered. He looked instantly sorrowful. “I’m sorry that he slipped us, my lord. We were diligent and I’m at a loss to imagine why or how he got past us.” The emperor nodded. “You may go.”
Jib stole a glance at Stracker and bowed to the emperor and Dara Negev before leaving.
Once the door had closed Loethar rounded on Stracker. “Let them all live. Even our men sense that Freath went willingly. He used the words slipped us.”
Stracker looked incensed. “They let you down.”
“And nothing will be achieved by executing them,” said Loethar.
Stracker threw an I-told-you-so glance at his mother, then returned his attention to Loethar. “So you believe Freath deliberately sneaked out of the inn, using the contest as a diversion?”
“Of course. I have no other explanation. The question is why? Who was he going to meet? How does he know these people? Why are they important to him? Exactly what was Freath up to in the north? Clearly not taxes!”
“A romantic tryst?” Dara Negev offered, then laughed. “I jest, of course. Freath was like a dry old stick.”
Stracker sighed. “I’ll leave for Francham now.”
“Find the Vested,” Loethar repeated. “Master Kirin must know something. Why else isn’t he dead alongside Freath?”
“We’ve got the realm covered. We should be able to place him within a few days.”
Loethar considered this. “He was initially brought here against his will. I worry that the lure of freedom is seductive.”
Dara Negev gave a sound of derision. “That man of magic seemed happy enough here.”
“He did,” Loethar agreed. “I always liked him, to tell the truth.”
“What magic did he possess anyway?” she demanded.
“Low level stuff. He could judge people relatively well. I know that sounds vague but apparently that was his skill. He was based at the Academy of Learning in Cremond to match students with the right sort of education. As he put it, someone might present as a person who wanted to study the stars but he would know very quickly that the student would make a better adept as a physic, or perhaps as an architect.”
“How odd,” she commented. “Nothing really useful, then?”
“No, and that’s why we didn’t need him or fret about his connection with Freath in those early days. He didn’t give Freath anything back when I wasn’t in a position to trust him. That’s what is so galling. I trusted the man!”
“I don’t know why you needed any of them. You should have had them all killed.”
“We’ve been through this, Mother,” Loethar said, his tone suggesting how tedious she was.
“Well, we might have, but I can’t help but remind you, Loethar. People with any skills, low level or otherwise, are dangerous. And you’ve got them all packed away together. What makes you think they won’t use that power against you?”
“I’ve explained before, Mother, that to waste the power of the Vested is short-sighted. I’d rather harness it and use it to my own ends. And rather than cooping them up and making enemies of them, I’m now doing a controlled release of them throughout the realm so I know where they are. Some have extraordinary powers.”
“Like that wretched blood taster of yours. He makes my flesh crawl.”
“Like Vulpan, yes. Speaking of whom, Stracker, have you sent word ahead to get Vulpan moved immediately up to Francham?”
“Yes, but I have to question if Freath is really so important that we’re going to drop everything and chase after his killer? He’s not going to be mourned by anyone.”
“This is not about Freath. It’s about the death of a key member of my retinue and the mystery surrounding it. Why would someone Freath willingly met kill him in cold blood? And why all the secrecy? What ever your personal opinion is, Freath has worked closely alongside me for the past ten anni. What if this is connected to a plot against me? Freath must have lost a lot of blood. If Vulpan can follow the trail, he might be able to find where Freath died.”
“He’d need to taste his blood first,” Stracker remarked, looking bored.
“It doesn’t have to be fresh, does it?”
Now the general grinned. “No.” He reached to his waist, unsheathed a dagger and strode to where Freath’s corpse lay. Staring at he mottled, gray face of the aide, he plunged the dagger into the middle of the body’s chest, just below the sternum. “Ah,” he groaned with plea sure. “That is very satisfying. I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
His mother chuckled, unaffected by her son’s ghoulish behavior. Loethar, however, ground his jaw as he blinked, his lips slightly pursed. “Done?” he asked with forced politeness as he reached for the corner of the shroud.
Stracker withdrew the blade and stared at the dark, sticky mass that coated it. “Vulpan will enjoy this.”
Loethar’s bland expression hid his concern at his family’s lack of finesse. “Take whomever you need,” he told Stracker. “Get Vulpan to Francham and hunt down where Freath died and get onto the trail of the person or persons who did this. And find me Master Kirin. I need to know why he and Freath did not suffer the same fate.”
“Can I use what ever means I need to fulfill your orders, my emperor?”
Stracker was baiting him. Loethar took a moment to consider his reply. “No killing, Stracker.”
He watched his half-brother glance at their mother before he nodded. “When did you turn so soft, brother?”
“These days a more subtle approach is prudent,” Loethar replied carefully.
“Don’t change too much,” Stracker warned, turning to leave.
“Or what?” Loethar asked in a quiet voice.
Dara Negev’s gaze flicked anxiously between her sons. They both ignored her. Stracker turned around and regarded his younger sibling. Loethar’s stare impaled him, unflinching. For the briefest moment Loethar believed Stracker was finally going to share what he was really feeling, what was really building within that huge barrel chest of his. But it seemed the influence of their mother was still too strong.
Stracker shook his head slightly and then smiled wryly. “Or you’ll disappoint your true people,” he answered. This time when he turned his back on the emperor, he left, although Loethar would have put money on the guess that Stracker’s expression was far from smiling as his broad body moved across the threshold of the chapel and closed the door behind him.
Loethar glanced at his mother. “Trouble is brewing.”
“Always has been between you two.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think we handle our differences rather well.”
“It’s easy to say that when you’re emperor.”
“Should I be worried?”
Dara Negev sighed. “Not as long as I’m alive, son. Beyond that I cannot say. But Stracker isn’t a deep thinker; you know that. He’s someone who reacts. Keeping him under such control for this long is a miracle.” Loethar nodded. He knew his mother was right. “He thinks you have forgotten what the struggle was all about.”
“Mother, Stracker never knew what my struggle was.”
She regarded her son. “He could be forgiven for assuming you both shared the same vision.”
Loethar looked down. “Yes, he could be. But he doesn’t know.”
“And if you want to keep your throne, child, he must never know. Remember who answers to him. You are emperor and our people respect you—always have, even when you were a mere barbarian warlord. But now the Set people respect you, too. It’s quite an achievement and I never doubted you could attain this goal. But Stracker doesn’t share the same ideals.”
“I know,” Loethar said, tiring of the obvious.
“An heir is critical now, Loethar. If the monster you call a wife doesn’t give you a son, kill her and take a new wife. Bearing heirs is all she was ever good for and if she can’t do that for you, she is a pointless waste of time. Daughters will not protect this throne. As soon as your son is born, move to protect him.”
Loethar looked up to the chapel’s ceiling, where sparrows flitted in the rafters. “Curious, isn’t it, how history repeats itself?”
“What do you mean?”
“Brennus. He did everything to protect the line of the throne. And now here I am, suddenly finding myself in the same precarious situation.”
“It’s how it’s always been.”
“Not for the Steppes people. We fight for our throne.”
She smiled. “Don’t you ever forget it, son.”
“Come,” Loethar said. He glanced once more at Freath, then turned away to call for the runners to carry his mother back to her chambers.
Crouching beneath the shrouded table that held Freath’s corpse, holding his breath, a young page prayed to Lo that the emperor and the crone would leave quickly. He was sure his trembling was shaking the linens that hid him.
Empress Valya stared out of her window, so overwhelmed by her frustration that she felt rigid, her thoughts fractured. Her marriage was a sham. Her love seemed to hit the wall of stone that her husband had become, bouncing back sharply to pummel her with silent derision.
She felt the baby inside her belly shift, and marveled helplessly at the strange little shape that pushed against her body. An elbow, she thought, just for a blink, amused and transported by the wonder of it.
“I always loved your father more than he loved me,” she began, stroking where her child stretched, finding a small mea sure of comfort in talking to her unborn. “And if I’m honest perhaps he never did make a promise to love me. That’s a pity, for I love him more intensely now than ever and my unrequited affection is more damaging than his unspoken words. I realize now he married me simply for show, so that he would fit the mold of the Denovian he strived to be. And you are the reason for our marriage. You’re not the first, of course. But it seems I am inadequate as a breeder. I have failed every time, until now. You must hold on. You will be my triumph, and my bartering stick. For he wants you more than he wants anything in this land. Don’t be a girl, sweet child. You must be a male, or all of us are lost. I might even have to kill you myself if you are born female. I would be showing you a mercy. He will not want you; none of them will want you. And I will be cast aside as their patience wears thin of my—” She stopped her murmurings at the sound of the door. “Who is it?” Valya snapped.
“It’s Fren, empress,” came a small voice through the door.
Valya hated the new gait her body had adopted as her pregnancy had edged closer to its finale. Her once lithe, trim body was hugely misshapen, forcing her to waddle. She had known women who had been smug and proud of the swollen outline produced by these moons of childbearing, but she hated it; hated that she couldn’t ride or move with elegance, that her ankles were twice their normal size, that fat had seemingly layered itself all over her body. Like a sea vessel in full sail she drifted in a swaying motion toward the door and pulled it open, scowling. “Do you have news?”
The boy nodded.
“Come,” she ordered.
The child stepped inside her chamber.
“Did you take care?”
“Yes, empress, very good care.”
“Tell me.” At Fren’s hesitation, she grabbed his thin arm. “Tell me!”
He was frightened, she could see that now. What had he heard? “Fren, where have you been?”
“In the chapel.”
“Chap—Why?”
“You told me to take every opportunity to eavesdrop on the emperor.”
“And?”
“I knew a runner had been sent to summon Dara Negev regarding Master Freath’s death and I thought he might talk openly to her about it.”
“Hurry up, Fren,” she said. “Why are you drawing this out?”
Fren flinched as she snapped her fingers before his face. “I…I heard the emperor talking to General Stracker and Dara Negev.”
Dawning spread on Valya’s face. “Really? So they had a gathering without me.”
“All I know, empress, is that he summoned both once he’d arrived in the chapel.”
“What was said?”
“They discussed Master Freath’s death. The emperor is very angry about it.”
“I don’t know why,” Valya said, waving a hand dismissively. “Good riddance, I say, to the oily old coot.”
“I believe that is how the general felt, empress.”
“But not my husband.”
“He is angry. He wants answers. He said Freath’s not important. Er, I just have to remember this properly, empress.” The boy frowned, presumably running back over his recollection of the conversation. “It’s not about Freath, he said, it’s about why Freath was lying.”
“Lying?”
“Yes, empress, that’s what I understood although I didn’t really follow what—”
She flicked back her golden hair with irritation. “Fren, remember the words themselves, what he did say.”
“He said: ‘that’s what is so galling, I trusted the man.’ I don’t understand galling but the way he said it, it sounded as though he was lied to by Master Freath.”
Valya pondered this information, her thoughts racing. Had Freath really lied to Loethar? “Why do they think Freath might have lied?”
The boy shook his head. “They said Freath must have known his attacker or at least willingly left the inn with him. The emperor spoke with one of the soldiers who had escorted Master Freath to the north. The soldiers were in the inn with Master Freath, and had seen him drinking ale. Then he disappeared, under their noses from what I could tell, empress.”
“I see. So if he hadn’t been a willing victim, there would have been some sort of disturbance to alert the soldiers?”
Fren beamed. “That’s exactly what they were saying.”
“Interesting,” Valya said, her brow creased in thought, one hand on her swollen belly. “And how was the mood in the room, Fren?”
“Mood?”
“Yes, you know, how were the two men talking to one another? I know my husband never raises his voice but he can still make his listener understand when he’s threatening them.”
“Then the mood was awkward, empress. The emperor and the general seemed…um…”
“Angry?”
Fren shook his head.
“Argumentative?”
“Sort of. What’s the word when the conversation sounds as though everyone’s trying to keep his temper in check?”
“Tense?”
He beamed. “That’s it, empress. Yes, it was tense between those two.”
“Tell me, did the general challenge my husband? You know, lay down any sort of threats?”
The boy looked back at her, wide-eyed. “Not really, empress. But after the general had left, the emperor asked his mother if there was a problem. Trouble, he called it.”
“And he was referring to his brother?”
“Yes, because she said…” The boy paused again, his face creased in concentration. “She said the general could be forgiven for believing they shared the same vision. She also said that if he was going to keep the throne, Stracker must never know.”
Valya had been pacing but now she swung around, astonishment on her face. “Those were her words?” she demanded.
Fren nodded. “I have a very good memory, empress, as you know.”
She feigned a conspiratorial smile. “That’s why you’re my favorite and most handsome spy,” she assured. “This is very intriguing, Fren. Very intriguing, indeed.”
“Is that good, empress?”
“Probably,” she said. “And Dara Negev didn’t say what this secret might be?”
Fren shook his head. “From the way the conversation went, they both seemed to know what it was.”
She smiled for his benefit, turning away so he wouldn’t see her fresh expression of outrage and confusion. Why, after all she had been through with them, would she not be privy to some great secret being shared between her husband and his mother? “Was I mentioned at all during this conversation?” she said absently, merely for something to say as she puzzled over Loethar’s secret.
Fren cleared his throat. “Yes, you were, empress.”
She stopped pacing and turned back. Cocking her head to one side, she asked, “Really?”
He nodded but Valya noticed he looked suddenly fidgety.
“What was said about me?”
Fren bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, empress, they were talking about an heir for the empire.”
“They being Dara Negev and the emperor?”
“Yes.”
“Go on. What about the heir?”
“Just how important he is.”
“He. Yes,” she said. Almost to herself, she added, “I wonder what will happen if it’s a she?” She didn’t expect an answer, began returning her thoughts to Loethar’s secret, and so was shocked to be given an answer.
“They would kill you.”
Valya rounded on the boy. “What did you just say?” she hissed.
Fren swallowed. “Dara Negev said you should be killed, empress, if you can’t produce the heir needed.”
Valya blinked. “You’re quite sure she didn’t mean a daughter should be killed?”
“I’m sure, empress. Her words were: kill her and take a new wife. She said that bearing heirs is all you were good for and if you can’t do that, then…then you are a pointless—”
“Stop, curse you!” Valya exclaimed, her breath suddenly shallow.
“I’m sorry, empress.”
She paced, wringing her hands. “Kill me?” she said, testing the words aloud. “How did my husband reply?”
“He didn’t, empress. He changed the subject to something about how history repeats itself. He seemed more concerned about his general’s intentions than the need to secure the rule with an heir.”
Valya sneered, enraged that Loethar had not even pretended to stick up for her. “Well, of course he would be.”
“Dara Negev did say, now I think about it, that as long as she was alive, the emperor was safe, but beyond her death she couldn’t say.”
Valya pulled aside a tapestry and from a shelf recessed into the stone behind it took down a small wooden chest. Opening the chest, she took out a few coins. “Here, Fren. This should feed your family for a month at least.”
The boy’s eyes shone as the heavy coins landed in his hands, and he immediately tucked the money away in a pouch around his neck. “Thank you, empress.”
“There’s more of that for you. Keep your eyes and ears open. I want to know everything you hear immediately. Do you understand? No matter what time of day or night.”
“I understand,” he said gravely, then bowed. “Thank you, empress.”
She flicked a hand at him, hardly noticing his departure as her mind fled to how she might protect herself. Well, she thought, rubbing at her belly, she wasn’t that easy to do away with.