He took the message from Beltran’s hands, and broke the seal on it. His Mage-sight detected a little shower of magical energy as he did so. That would be the spell that would tell whoever had set the seal that the message had been opened, and whether or not it was by the person to whom it was addressed. If someone else had opened this first, well . . . at the very least someone in the Emperor’s service, if not the Emperor himself, would want to know why, and the only permissible answer would be that he was too sick or injured to do so himself.
He opened the carefully folded paper. Very thick stock. Linen, cotton and softwood. Its deckled edges were jarred by the heavy-lined stamped block border surrounding the calligraphy.
There was the usual salutation, to him by his shortest possible title, from the Emperor by his longest possible title, which took up half the page, then the important part.
He looked up at Hakkon, feeling his mouth pursing as if he was tasting something sour. Which he was. The excitement, the energy drain, the celebratory mood and then the thoughts of his father and the Plan legacy had resulted in enough of a twisted gut that he tasted bile.
“I’m ordered to turn up with the horses in person,” he said abruptly. “As quickly as possible.”
Hakkon’s face took on an equally sour expression. “Well, that’s . . . inconvenient.”
“Yes,” he replied, not wanting to say anything more, in case there was some subtle enchantment on the paper that would allow what they were saying to be overheard. “But orders are orders. How long will it take to get the tribute herd together?”
“About two days,” Hakkon guessed. “We’ll want to make sure every horse has been attended to, checked to make sure it’s in fine fettle, and is shod for city streets. Grim’s up to it, of course, and we can always borrow a blacksmith from the village if we need one.”
“Do so. Let me go put this in a safe place, and we’ll discuss what needs to be done further,” Kordas declared. By a “safe place,” of course, he meant the drawer of his desk that was made of such heavy wood that it might as well have been warded on its own, and inside a pouch that scrambled up a spell’s precision. He’d need to bring the letter with him, of course, to present to the Gate Keepers, including the one who minded the Gate that was just outside the manor village, right at the wall around the manor estates. It would be up to the Keepers to decide how expeditious his trip was. If they decided to route him straight to the Capital, he’d be there in under a candlemark. If they decided to put him with the trade traffic, the way they had when he’d been sent to foster at the Imperial Palace, it could take more than a day.
“Right,” Hakkon agreed. “I’ll tell Grim, then we’ll meet you there.” Beltran nodded.
He didn’t have to specify “where,” nor who “we” would be. Jonaton was already either with the Six or with Isla, and Beltran was here. Whichever of them found Isla first would gather her up, plus probably Delia if she had sufficiently recovered from Fetching that stone, then they would meet with the Circle, who were the closest thing he had to a Privy Council. Time was of the essence. The good news was that the messenger had not waited, which meant Kordas probably had the two days he needed. But anything over two days . . . could be bad.
He sprinted for his office, Beltran following. The quicker he got this piece of Imperial arrogance somewhere he wouldn’t have to worry about it, the better.
* * *
—
The circle of peculiar stuffed chairs had been enlarged to include seven more of the things, mostly stuffed between the Circle’s regular ones—and separating the six of the Circle was never a bad idea. Hakkon had found Delia first when he had gone to the stable to inform Grim of the new orders, and had gathered up the steward, Renfeld, on the way back. Kordas and Beltran had found Isla with Jonaton after he stowed the paper where it could do no harm for the moment. By the time Hakkon arrived with Delia, the rest of them had settled as close together as physically possible, so they didn’t have to raise their voices much. Yes, the chamber was warded and shielded to a fare-thee-well, but everyone had heard tales of birds bespelled to repeat whatever they overheard, and even though the Six outwardly scoffed at such things, no one was willing to take chances where the Emperor was concerned.
“Grim says he can have the herd ready two days from now, as I predicted,” Hakkon said as he lowered himself into a cushion-chair with a grimace. “So that’s out of the way. He just needs to organize enough grooms to handle the herd on their trip without leaving the stable shorthanded. You’re sending a generous number this year.”
“Good. Well.” Kordas sighed. “I did not expect this result.”
“But it at least makes sense,” Isla pointed out. “You haven’t been to Court in person in over ten years. No one who actually looks after their lands in person goes to Court willingly during the summer—so this makes it inconvenient for you, which of course is the point. They want to reinforce that you serve them, not the other way around. The Court is half-empty right now, there’s probably nothing and no one there to offer a distraction. I haven’t heard how the war in the South is going—”
She looked to Ponu, who shrugged.
“Neither well nor poorly,” the old man said. “From my perspective, he’s probably tying up the Southerns to keep them from tending to their fields with an eye to running out their resources, and planning an offensive after the Regatta to destroy whatever harvests they have. Then, when they’re further weakened from a lean winter, he’ll move on them again before the fields and roads thaw. That’s been his pattern until now, and I don’t see it changing.”
“Well, it works,” Sai pointed out. “And once the Emperor finds something that works, he never changes it.”
“So unless the war heats up in an unexpected manner, he can ignore the conflict and leave it to his generals until after the Regatta. So now he’s bored, and I caught his interest.” Kordas nodded. “Lucky me. All right. Isla, you’re in charge of the Duchy. Hakkon, I want you here as well.” When Hakkon looked as if he might protest, Kordas shook his head. “I need you here in case someone decides to try something, assuming that a ‘weak’ female is in charge who can be pushed around. I’m not in my teens anymore. I will take Beltran.”
“All right, then,” Hakkon agreed, subsiding. “If you’re not taking me, I’ll settle for you taking the best knife-fighter in the Duchy.”
Beltran blushed a little, but didn’t disagree.
“Beltran is also high enough in rank to go anywhere with me, but low enough to be ignored on his own,” Kordas added. “Delia, you’re going to be your sister’s messenger.”
“Because no one is going to pay any attention to a girl, but I’m high enough in rank no one is going to try anything with me,” the girl agreed.