\hypertarget{chapter-52-recovery}{%
\chapter{Recovery}\label{chapter-52-recovery}}



\epigraph{``Negotiation with your ruler, my lord, is like treading the edge
of a hidden pit filled with man-eating tapirs. Unrelated, but before we
further discuss taxation would you take a single step to the left?''}{Dread Empress Atrocious}



Dawn broke through the night sky, revealing bared steel.

That, I considered, was a lot of swords. Shame about the way the people
wielding those seemed inclined to point them in my direction. Princess
Rozala, who was here for some reason, immediately began shouting for the
pack of Levantine warriors surrounding us to sheathe their blades, which
went largely ignored. Almost like some Proceran princess screaming out
orders at people her ancestors had invaded hadn't gone over well with
this particular crowd. Who'd have thought? Hakram, who was there because
he was a prince among men, strode forward ignoring all the shouting and
the foreign priests looking like someone had kicked over their anthill.
After going through his cloak pockets he produced a nice little wooden
pipe and stuffed it with wakeleaf, at my unspoken invitation putting it
up against my lip and scratching out a match to light it. A few puffing
breaths later I breathed in the smoke, breathed it out and let out a
pleased moan before facing the angry shouting crowd.

``Right,'' I got out around the pipe's lip, ``you all seem to be very
concerned about something and I don't want to, uh, diminish that. But I
also don't speak Lunara, so we're at a bit of an impasse.''

``That was mostly Ceseo, in truth,'' the Grey Pilgrim rasped out.

His speaking triggered another round of shouting while I pondered the
complexities of smoking a pipe without having a free hand for it. I had
one holding up Tariq's doddering frame, slipped under his shoulder to
let him stand, while the other was busy keeping \emph{me} up by leaning
on my staff. Our journey here through Twilight Throneless had been
somewhat less than graceful, though I'd been rather amused by the fact
that the first set of stairs we'd encountered on our way out of Liesse
had probably come closer to killing either of us that night than Kairos.

``Figured they'd be a little happier to see you, Tariq, I'm not gonna
lie,'' I mused. ``Would you care to translate?''

The old man cocked his head to the side.

``To put it delicately,'' the Peregrine said, ``questions are being
raised as to the authenticity of my person.''

``Oh?'' I mouthed back, grinning nastily around my pipe. ``Did someone
call you an undead abomination yet? That's always been one my
favourites.''

``You're enjoying this a great deal more than you should,'' the Grey
Pilgrim muttered.

``Someone else being called that?'' I murmured. ``Never. That would be
\emph{highl}y petty of me, after all.''

A heartbeat passed.

``Maybe they'll name you Arch-heretic of the West,'' I suggested.
``Wouldn't that be something?''

I wasn't sure whether what shook him was a cough of a snort, but it
ripped through his frame suddenly enough it very much did become a
cough. My use of his resurrection trick was apparently a little rough
around the edges compared to his personal touch, and he'd not been a
young man to begin with. And if that hadn't been enough, I still
remembered what it'd felt like having an aspect cut out of me. Tariq had
been dead when I'd ripped Forgive out of his corpse, so he'd been spared
the inhuman pain I'd felt when Masego carved Seek out of my soul, but
losing a third of your Name was nothing something to be \emph{shrugged
off}. Especially when you'd had your aspects as long as the Grey Pilgrim
had. A quartet of Levantines seemed to be getting deferred to by even
the Lanterns, who were visibly itching to have a go at Tariq and I, and
one's familiar face told me why: Razin Tanja was among them, which meant
they were Blood. I waved at him from the Pilgrim's side, wiggling my
hand against the old man's flank, but my treasured acquaintance seemed
rather offended by the act. Fancy that, I drily thought. I'd always got
on so well with Levantines.

``Queen Catherine, please,'' Princess Rozala shouted in Lower Miezan.
``At least answer the accusations-''

``My return was wrought,'' the Grey Pilgrim said, weak voice firming,
``under the auspices of the Ophanim.''

``Forgiveness, Peregrine,'' a towering muscle slab of a man said, ``yet
if the corpse of the Grey Pilgrim were to be so defiled, it would speak
as you do. Truth must be ascertained.''

I glanced at Hakram, who'd fallen it at my side and was nonchalantly
ignoring the way the few hundred warriors surrounding us had yet to put
down their swords or even lapse in their general glowering. I drew on
the pipe, letting the wakeleaf sink down my throat and into by lungs
before breathing it out through my nose. It burned a tad -- I usually
blew it out -- but not unpleasantly.

``So,'' I drawled. ``I don't suppose you've got a flask of Vale summer
wine stashed away in that cloak?''

``I could only get my hands on Dormer pale,'' Adjutant apologetically
said.

My lips twitched.

``See, now I \emph{know} that's a lie,'' I replied.

``This is going to be a hand joke, isn't it,'' he sighed, sounding
resigned.

``If I say yes,'' I murmured, ``are you going to lose it?''

I shamelessly chortled at my own joke and regretted it not a bit. His
jaw muscles twitched in what was either suppressed amusement or the
sudden urge to bite off my face, and not metaphorically speaking.

``Your Majesty, would you start taking this seriously?'' Princess Rozala
hissed. ``This could easily devolve into a battle. Already forces are
gathering, all bloody chaos requires is a spark.''

I glanced at her, brow rising, then looked at Hakam.

``It's looking like Hasenbach's riding her hard to keep you alive and
happy,'' he told me in Kharsum.

``She must just \emph{love} that,'' I replied in the same.

Not even the harsh syllables of the main orc dialect entirely managed to
hide my petty glee at the revelation, from the looks I got. I sighed and
began helping Tariq off of me.

``Need my stick, old bones?'' I asked. ``I'll let you borrow it if you
promise to give it back.''

``I'll stand, thank you,'' the Grey Pilgrim sighed. ``I will have to
grow used to having broken mine.''

I cast a look at the middle-aged warrior who'd very politely just told
Tariq they were going to have to check if he was my dead corpse-puppet,
mentally going through what I knew of Levantine commanders in Iserre.
That was Yannu Marave, probably, though I couldn't be sure from his
face-paint as I could not remember the colours of the Champion's Blood
at the moment.

``Lord Marave, is it?'' I probed.

``It is so, Black Queen,'' he calmly replied.

``Word of advice,'' I said. ``When you have your priestlings poke at the
Peregrine, tell them to be gentle.''

``Truth must be ascertained,'' he replied, eyes tightening.

``Sure,'' I said. ``But if they get too rough, after tonight I'm
guessing the Ophanim might end up \emph{ascertaining} them all over the
ground. I mean, it's not my hill so I've no horse in this race, but
think of the poor Proceran peasant who'll end up stuck cleaning that
up.''

I bet Alamans princes didn't even tip, too, they seemed like the type.

``We will see,'' Lord Marave said.

I had a free hand, now that Tariq was standing on his own, so I used it
for the very important task of having another pull of my pipe and
spewing out the smoke into the crisp winter morning air. Then, resting
my staff against my chest, I extended an open palm towards Hakram and
saw it filled with a nice little silver flask. Had to unscrew the cap,
but a sniff told me it really \emph{was} Dormer pale inside. I'd be
damned, hadn't thought any Callowan drink would make it this far out.
The surprise brought back sharp remembrance of Ratface, whose days as a
quartermaster had seen him taken as some sort of contraband magician,
and the ache of my dead friend's absence was a lingering pang. I
smoothed it away from my face, pulling at the wine. A pair of Lanterns
were not helping the Pilgrim stand, gently but firmly inspecting him.

``I'm guessing, Lord Yannu,'' I said, ``that you want me to stick around
until that little charade there is over with.''

``I accept your kind offer, Black Queen,'' the Lord of Alava said.

Someone was letting the inch I'd given them go to their head, looked
like.

``Put words in my mouth again, Marave, and that'll be the last time you
have a tongue,'' I casually replied, with a nice friendly smile.

The warriors around us didn't like that, or at least not my tone. I
wasn't clear on how many of them spoke Lower Miezan. The other three of
the Blood -- the older woman had to be the Lady of Vaccei, who I
remembered had grown children, while by elimination the last was the
Lady of Tartessos -- didn't either, though none spoke out to take me to
task over the threat. Almost like they were realizing they were trying
to keep the Queen of Callow prisoner, breaking truce in the process. I
allowed myself a single appreciative glance at the Lady of Tartessos,
whose bronze and green paint paired with a rather tight leather vest
made for an attractively unusual look. Truthfully if Lord Yannu had been
twenty years longer he might have been the one to draw a second look but
as it was he was both at least twice my age and getting on my nerves.

``No offence was meant,'' the Levantine lord said.

He didn't sound all that apologetic, which made sense as I'd yet to hear
an apology.

``Now, for the sake of diplomacy I'll tolerate this,'' I said. ``But I'd
like the lot of you to consider the amount of insults you've been laying
at my feet this morn, after the trouble I went through to save your
ungrateful hides.''

``You claim debt, Black Queen?'' the Lady of Vaccei asked.

``I claim slights,'' I idly replied. ``Three now and your tab's still
open. Best start thinking now of how restitution will be offered for
them.''

I was willing to make peace with these people, to make alliances and
sign treaties and fight by their side. But I would not allow that
willingness to be confused even a moment for \emph{fragility}. If they
offered insults, they'd pay up for them -- or else. I had no intention
to allow either myself or Callow to be made the rented mule of the Grand
Alliance in the war to come. Grace would be answered with grace, but
disrespect with the same thing as well. The talk of restitution went
over about as well one would expect when spoken by a villain, but in
those haughty faces I saw something like abashment as well. No one who
spent as much time going around talking about honour as the Dominion's
highborn did could be unaware that they were pushing me far enough a
less temperate woman might have chosen violence as answer. Oh Gods, I
thought, pulling at my pipe. You knew a manner of thinking was awful
skewed when \emph{I} could be counted as temperate by it. One of the
Lanterns, speaking rhythmic prayers in what might still have been Ceseo
for all I knew, brought forth a long spike of Light. She touched it to
the Pilgrim's skin, near the wrist, and that was then the Choir of Mercy
took offence.

Well, I'd warned them. The rest was on their heads.

There was a ripple of power by now familiar to me, a taste of flame and
smoke and the beat of wings, and before it could draw blood the Light
winked out. The Lantern fell to her knees, stunned, and began babbling
in one of the Levantine tongues. I glanced at Hakram, pulling at my
pipe, but the orc shrugged. He had no idea either then. I turned to
Princess Rozala, realizing only then she'd been bearing a truce banner
this entire time. Gods, I was more out of it than I'd thought. I almost
asked why she'd been made flag-bearer, but to be honest the true reason
might not be as amusing as what my imagination was providing so it'd be
a shame to break the illusion so soon.

``I don't suppose, Your Grace, that you speak\ldots{} that,'' I said,
somewhat vaguely.

``Still Ceseo,'' Princess Rozala said. ``They use it for formal
conversations even in northern Levant. I'm not fluent, but she seems to
be saying she has lost the `grace'.''

I cocked my head to the side.

``Well, I'll be damned,'' I said.

``Again,'' Hakram helpfully contributed.

I would have gestured obscenely at him, were my hands not full. Truly,
my Adjutant's wiles were without match.

``They stripped her of the right to use the Light, then,'' I whistled.
``That's as clear a verdict as you'll get.''

I was not, apparently, the only one to think so. It was only Yannu
Marave, at first, but within moments a handful of warriors followed suit
and from there on it was like levees breaking: before the bone-tired
Grey Pilgrim the men and women of Levant knelt. I could feel the
tiredness withdrawing from my wary bones, though it must be illusion.
I'd been at the end of my rope hours ago, by now I was dangling in the
void. I sniffed at the flask in my hand once more.

``Hakram, is there anything aside from wine in there?'' I asked.

``A Praesi alchemical tonic,'' he admitted.

My brow rose.

``Didn't think to mention that before I drank it?'' I said.

``You have been awake for nearly twenty hours, Catherine,'' he said.
``And few of them restful.''

``Potions are always hollow strength,'' I grunted.

I didn't further mention it, though, for cheat or not the tonic's effect
was pushing back the moment where I'd collapse in my bed for three days
by a few hours yet. Might be I wouldn't need that long before I crawled
under a set of warm covers but I might as well be fully awake for the
time it did end up taking. I took another sip from the flask. It might
just be the lack of sleep talking, but the wine might actually taste
better with the tonic in it. It took the edge of the sweetness of -- oh
Gods, I'd been spending too much time with Akua lately if I'd seriously
been thinking about that. Next thing you knew I'd be talking about what
poisons paired well with an Aksum sour, and what kind of a dress you
should wear when crushing your enemies underfoot. Probably something
red, I mused, depending on how literal the crushing was. The winding
turns of my life had made me rather depressingly familiar with how
difficult blood could be to get out of clothes. I forced myself to pay
attention to what the Pilgrim and the Levantines were doing, which from
the look on Malanza's face must be rather impressive.

Well, they did make a pretty painting. I'd at least concede that much.
Tariq, weary and bloodstained and victorious, surrounding by a ring of
kneeling warriors in steel and paint as the sun rose above them all.
Unfortunately, pretty as this all was I was beginning to lose patience
with it. If the Dominion wanted to get all ceremonial about the
Peregrine returning to them all the better, but they could go about it
without my attendance. It was also rather ungainly that myself, Hakram
and a Proceran princess were the only people on this hill not kneeling
to the Pilgrim. Didn't particularly make me want to take a knee to good
ol' Tariq, mind you, but we stood out a mite. Adjutant looked askance at
me, but I shook my head. Hakram Deadhand had no need to kneel to me, so
why should he kneel to anyone at all? The Grey Pilgrim addressed his
countrymen in one of their languages, sounding as if he was admonishing
them, but even then they all stubbornly remained kneeling save for the
four of the Blood. I was occupied wondering whether it would be rude to,
well, \emph{leave} after I'd finished smoking my pipe when the four
aristocrats were calmly addressed by the Pilgrim and turned to us.

``We are told this was wrought by your hand, Black Queen,'' Lord Yannu
Marave gravely said.

``Mercy allowed it, as the Peregrine said,'' I honestly replied. ``And
it was not without price for all involved.''

Least costly to me, who'd merely tossed away the chance in the future
that one dear to me could be stolen back from death, but it'd been a
price still. Chances like that one came only once, when Creation's writ
conspired to deliver them into your hand, and spurning what had been
offered would ensure there was no repetition.

``Honour was given,'' the Lady of Tartessos said.

``Honour was given to all Levant,'' the Lady of Vaccei said. ``This we
agree.''

``And so honour must be returned in kind,'' Razin Tanja gravely said.

So, I idly wondered, what kind of a largely ceremonial gesture would be
made. Would concession be made, a declaration that I was not truly
Arch-heretic of the East? No, I decided, not that. It'd been a conclave
of several priesthoods that named me that, even if they were influential
enough to force the Lanterns to agree it wouldn't be enough. Amusedly, I
wondered if I was about to be made some manner of Blood. Not one of
their own, of course, but recognized as some Callowan equivalent. I did
remember that for all that their five great lines held the power and
influence, other Named were granted some privileges as well. As far as
Levant was concerned, being Named was being nobility\emph{. Catherine
Foundling of the Squire's Blood}, I thought. Well, it'd been a long
year. I could use the laugh, even if diplomacy dictated it must be had
behind closed doors where these touchy nobles could not hear it.

``The Champion's Blood endorses Callow's petition to join the Grand
Alliance,'' Lord Yannu Marave said. ``In my name, I speak this, as the
Lord of Alava.''

``The Brigand's Blood endorses Callow's petition to join the Grand
Alliance,'' Lady Itima Ifriqui said. ``In my name, I speak this, as the
Lady of Vaccei.''

``The Slayer's Blood endorses Callow's petition to join the Grand
Alliance,'' Lady Aquiline Osena said. ``In my name, I speak this, as the
Lady of Tartessos.''

``The Binder's Blood endorses Callow's petition to join the Grand
Alliance,'' Razin Tanja said. ``In the name of myself and my kin, I
speak this, as the heir to Malaga.''

They were, I understood after a moment of silent disbelief, deadly
serious. Because for them this wasn't about treaties and interest and
Calernia's balance of power -- it was, old-fashioned as the thought was,
about \emph{honour}. What had moved their tongues was the same thing
that'd been the source of indignation that'd seen Captain Elvera
chastise me even as my prisoner for daring to suggest she might go back
on her word when released. What lay at the heart of Praesi and Procerans
I could understand, for it was not so different for all the posturing
and castigations that both so freely threw. This, though? I would call
it some sentimental ardour coming through in a moment of weight, but I
was coming to grasp that was a mistaken understanding. This was good as
law to them, wasn't it? Returning boon to even those they believed to be
in Below's grasp, when boon was given. Honour, the way they spoke of it,
was not something I could understand. It might be one needed to be born
in their lands, to grasp it as they did. But my own people knew of
debts, of scores settled, and perhaps those were not tenets so estranged
as I might once have believed.

``I will not speak for the Pilgrim's Blood,'' Tariq said. ``Now or ever.
Yet I will speak of this \emph{to} the Holy Seljun, Queen Catherine. And
I swear now that the Majilis will speak as one, endorsing the petition
of the Kingdom of Callow.''
