\hypertarget{chapter-73-discerning}{%
\section{Chapter 73: Discerning}\label{chapter-73-discerning}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Poison is the weapon of the trade, knife the weapon of the
intimate and sorcery the weapon of war. To use any for the improper
purpose is the mark of inferior breeding, save if greater game is yet
afoot.''}

-- Extract from `The Behaviours of Civil Conduct', by High Lady Mchumba
Sahelian
\end{quote}

Akua leaked a sensation of query into the Night, an implicit question as
to whether or not she should leave given the nature of our arriving
guests, but I shook my head. While she was close to neither she was
likely to be a fairer hand at reading them than either Vivienne or
Hakram, and that lack of closes itself was not without its uses. I
doubted a distraction as petty as that would be enough to get beneath
the skin of the Scribe, but it took more than one stone to build a
house. Adjutant smoothly rose to fetch another two seats without my
asking, while Vivienne pressed into my hand a cup before pouring her
own. Cold ice-cooled water, sadly, but I did get drunk a lot faster than
I used to these days so perhaps that was for the best. Only a fool
blunted the edge of their sword just before tugging at a tiger's tail.
\emph{Might not be necessary}, I reminded myself. It would not do to
assume hostility from Scribe because of the less than stellar terms we'd
parted on last time we spoke. Or even with those in mind given that if
my father asked her to play nice, I believed her likely to do so. Still,
I'd recently learned that Black did not have nearly as tight a leash
over the Scribe as I'd once assumed.

It would not do to presume in favour of her either.

It was still half a surprise every time to see Black in anything but
plate when it was daylight, though I noted that while he wore a dark
tabard and matching long-sleeved tunic the faint hint of a coat of mail
could be seen under them. Hard to unlearn a lifetime's worth of
paranoia, I supposed -- though when it came to Praes it could not realty
be called \emph{paranoia} could it? Scribe was as slippery to the eyes
as she'd always been, even when I was actively trying to watch her. It
wasn't invisibility, for she was definitely there, but trying to
\emph{notice} anything about the villainess had my attention sliding
away like water off a duck's back. She had ink-stained hands, and she
was not tall, although she might just have been slouching. Her clothes
were loose and made of cloth. I bit the inside my cheek, using the pain
as a spur as I narrowed my eyes. She had pale, seemingly bloodless lips.
They were not smiling. Black took a seat at Adjutant's invitation and I
only then realized how long I'd been staring at Scribe, with only little
to show for it. Something to revisit later, perhaps. I sent an idle
prayer to my patronesses, though who knew if they'd deign to intercede
for such a trifle.

``Would I be correct in assuming you have been parsing through the
reports of the Jacks?'' the Carrion Lord calmly asked.

``More or less,'' I agreed. ``Speculating as to the consequences of the
mess, too. An insider's eye of the affair would be appreciated.''

The last sentence I spoke casually, though none here were fool enough to
believe it. I was reserving anger along with judgement, but I was less
than pleased at the fact that Cordelia Hasenbach had apparently come
rather close to being buried in a shallow grave. If the Eyes of the
Empire truly had been either authors or helpers to this episode of
convulsive stupidity, I would see to it that heads would roll unless
\emph{very} good reason was given. And I did not mean it as a figure of
speech, this once. Black glanced at his aide, either ordering or
encouraging.

``The Eyes of the Empire were involved,'' the Scribe calmly confirmed.
``Not directly, but in the nascent stages of the conspiracy and on its
edges when it came to a head.''

``Do the Procerans know?'' Vivienne flatly asked.

``The Circle of Thorns did as it took place. By now I would venture this
has expanded to the First Prince and her most trusted,'' Scribe said.

My eyes flicked to my teacher, whose face had remained serene even as
one of his oldest companions casually admitted she'd just attacked the
Principate in front of Cordelia Hasenbach while we were under formal
truce and headed for the negotiating table besides. He was unmoved, so
there was likely more to the story. At least some semblance of a reason
for me not to denounce Scribe as an agent of the Tower and send her
fucking crucified corpse to the First Prince as an apology.

``Elaborate,'' I coldly ordered.

``After the ambush sprung by the Grey Pilgrim that saw Lord Black
seized, the Tower reached out to me through the Eyes of the Empire,''
Scribe said. ``The Empress intended a rescue mission in Salia, paired
with a strike at the internal stability of Procer, and given the
circumstances I agreed with the necessity. Lady Ime and myself, over the
span of several months, laid the groundwork for certain factions within
Procer to come to the conclusion a coup was feasible.''

``The rumours that Rozala Malanza was backing the coup,'' Hakram
gravelled. ``They were not simple slander.''

``It was difficult but not impossible to impersonate her by letter,''
Scribe agreed. ``Given that neither the House of Light nor the Silver
Letters use scrying mages and the First Prince's own order was rendered
helpless by the interdict cast over Iserre. We've had a convincing
forgery of the royal seal of Aequitan since the Proceran civil war, when
we funded Aenor Malanza's bid for the throne through the Pravus Bank.''

``The coup happened,'' I said. ``Which means the trigger was pulled on
this scheme, and recently too. After you were informed of my intentions
for treaties with the Grand Alliance.''

``I was ordered by scrying link to end any ongoing operations, erase any
evidence of Praesi presence in the capital and ensure the loyalty of all
agents in the city,'' Scribe agreed.

I glanced at Black, who inclined his head in confirmation.

``In this I did not succeed,'' Scribe said. ``Ime had several long-term
plants among our scrying mages I was unaware of, and she used the
Tower's clout to mobilize the Eyes in the capital for action before I
could clean up all loose ends. It appears the Empress had judged the
Liesse Accords to be an existential threat to herself and her continued
reign.''

Well, I grimly thought, she wasn't wrong about that.

``Given actions that could not be denied, you had to ensure your
loyalists among the Eyes were seen as undertaking damage control,'' Akua
quietly said. ``Which is where the Circle of Thorns was brought in. The
First Prince will not take the word of anyone here as to the actions of
your agents, but she will heed the reports of her own spymaster. A
calculated move.''

``Concessions had to be made to the Circle in order for their leader to
agree not to spread knowledge of our involvement beyond the necessary,
and hand over the written proof of Praesi involvement,'' Scribe said.
``I gave formal agreement to the Praesi and Callowan delegations backing
the First Prince when she requests relief ships be allowed through the
Nicaean blockade around Ashur.''

I'd likely have agreed to that anyway, I mused. Oh I'd have tried to
exact a little something to sweeten the pot, or made a show of asking
for nothing in exchange to foster a sense of debt between myself and
Hasenbach, but this was not a great loss for me. I was still swimming in
leverage. On the other hand, Scribe had just entered a biding commitment
in my name. That she'd presumed to speak for me was galling enough.
Considering that Black was effectively my dependant under Proceran law
at the moment, Hasenbach would not be entirely without grounds to kick
up a fuss if his aide made promises and then they were gone back on.
It'd never hold without the strength to enforce it and I could cut right
through by sending the Highest Assembly the charred corpse of Scribe
along with a polite note informing them she in no way spoke for me, but
it'd sour my reputation with some people I badly needed the willing
collaboration of. Worse still, though, was that simply by speaking in my
name when negotiating the cover up the Scribe had implicitly stated I
was in some way related to this. Sedately, I set down my cup on the
table.

``I'll not insult your intelligence by asking you if you know what
you've done,'' I calmly said. ``I assume if you were willing to be in
killing distance of me, you have further explanation as why I shouldn't
execute you out of general principle.''

Black's lips thinned, but he did not object. Neither fucking should he.
If Adjutant had entered a binding agreement on the behalf of the Black
Knight, back in the day, even if my teacher had then judged it worth
upholding he would have put Hakram's head on a pike as a warning for
anyone else wanting to overstep. All else aside, I was the Queen of
Callow and a villain in my own right. That someone not in my service or
given my explicit permission had \emph{presumed} to speak for me in such
a delicate situation was worthy of violence.

``The Empress was aiming at the Accords themselves, apparently
considering them the primary threat,'' Scribe replied, voice unruffled.
``The Silver Letters brought stolen goblinfire into the city and Ime's
agents set fire near their safehouses in attempts to trigger a blaze.
Such an event would have destroyed large swaths of Salia and, given your
reputation for the substance's use, affected popular opinion enough to
make made negotiation near impossible. Especially for a weakened First
Prince, be it a surviving Hasenbach or a freshly elected Malanza. The
odds were more than fair that the Grand Alliance itself would
collapse.''

I smoothly drummed my fingers against the table. Her answer, unspoken as
it'd been, was that she might have overstepped but she'd done so while
in the process of averting what could have been a great crisis for me.
Certainly one much worse than the minor concession this had ended up
costing me -- and the unfortunate implications to Scribe having spoken
for me could be smoothed away by making it clear to Hasenbach it'd been
an exception and not to be taken as face value again. It still got stuck
in my throat that her own personal failure to get her house in order
would cost me, and that Malicia's unimpeded schemes would be considered
my problem, but I supposed an argument could be made that I was the one
who was diplomatically cornering the Empress. Scribe's repeated mention
of the Accords as the main target was certainly hinting at that heavily.
Black cleared his throat.

``Regardless of circumstance,'' he said, ``offence was given. We will
offer reparations to the Kingdom of Callow for having drawn on its
influence to clean up our own mistakes.''

Scribe did not speak for a moment, as if reluctant.

``As of this morning, the Jacks serving under Duchess-Regent Kegan of
Callow have been granted access through liaison to my informants within
the Wasteland,'' the Scribe said, ``along with a list of all suspected
Malicia agents within the kingdom.''

My brow rose. Those were\ldots{} not small things. Black had been outing
Malicia's agents in my kingdom for a while now, true, but he'd done it
slowly and at a pace Vivienne was adamant had been chosen so his
\emph{own} agents would not be outed by the revelations. And the
cooperation with Scribe's own faction in the Eyes would go a long way in
keeping Kegan from ending up in a grave between Ratface and Anne
Kendall. Those were heavier reparations than I would have felt
comfortable asking for, if I'd set the terms, which my teacher would
know. \emph{Ah}, I thought, meeting green eyes with my own. This was not
just reparations it was a polite gift-assisted request not to kill
Scribe for having crossed me. Which I was finding difficult to refuse,
all thing considered. Black was being genuine here, I decided, this was
more or less the way he dealt with allies. But there was something about
the way Scribe was acting\ldots{} Oh, she didn't like me. Which was
fine, as the sentiment was broadly shared: the cordial beginnings of our
acquaintance had begun to fade effectively the moment I sought power
independent of my teacher, which I suspected had simply moved me from
asset to liability in her eyes. Still, while she didn't like me I would
not deny she was an intelligent woman.

Which was where the flaw could be found. My temper had waned some, these
days, but not quite \emph{that} much. So why would she test it by
appearing reluctant over Black's reparations? She had to know I'd not be
all that well inclined towards her, and exactly what those reparations
were meant for. Meaning either she didn't consider her life or freedom
worth these concessions from the perspective of the resources available
to Black, which was too warped a view to be objectively credible, or she
was playing me. Playing up reluctance so I'd feel more grateful for my
teacher's contrastingly fair attitude? Could be, it would be just like
her to damage her own reputation to prop up his own. Even made sense
from a tactical perspective, given that she and I were unlikely to ever
be on good terms and so the loss relative to gain was greater. Except
that I could taste it in the air, now that I'd notice a flaw: I was
being sold a story. Not the way the Pilgrim or the Bard would, no. That
wouldn't be Scribe's game. Instead I'd been invited to stroll through a
house of mirrors so that I could take in my own reflections and hold
them as truth. Even my father's blunt but sincere bribery had been used
as an ingredient in the brew, something I'd find and read as true and so
believe the \emph{rest} was true.

So, I was being had. And Black hadn't been brought in on it. \emph{So
was this really Malicia's ploy at all?} It was true the Empress was only
losing so much even if it became public she'd helped along the coup,
considering the Grand Alliance had been founded in large part to bury
her and the Accords would entail her removal regardless. This could be
Malicia realizing that openly allying with Keter had burned too many
bridges, and that the same alliances taking shape to drive back the
Kingdom of the Dead might turn towards her if victorious. Sloppy work,
by her standards, but then she had to be running out of tools to use. On
the other hand, if I was frustrated in my efforts to establish alliances
to the west she had to know I'd be headed east instead -- and with a
sword in hand. Short-sighted, yes, but honestly still a feasible mistake
if Malicia was desperate enough. Which she had to be, with the Tribes
having taken Foremen and the Dread Empire on the edge of rebellion from
repeated defeats. Feasible, though, was why people thought the hooded
figures with tattooed eyes on their skin were the true Eyes of the
Empire instead of the chatty innkeepers. Feasible meant you stopped
looking because you had the answer. Yet I couldn't see, frankly, what
Scribe had to gain from all this.

``Appreciated,'' I said, not bothering to force a smile. ``I'll want a
report of everything that took place so no detail can be sprung on me at
the table.''

``Naturally,'' Black conceded.

He dipped his head in thanks, trusting in the word I'd just as good as
given.

``Vivienne,'' I said, ``I'll need you to arrange a scrying session with
Duchess-Regent Kegan as soon as possible.''

``I'll see to it immediately,'' she briskly replied, rising to her feet.

``Akua,'' I said, simultaneously dumping into the Night a sense of
stillness, ``we still need to bring General Rumena into the loop.''

``As you say, dear heart,'' she smiled.

In the Night she shaped her will as a sense of action, then a question,
and I assented through the same. Neither of us missed a beat, or
otherwise gave sign of this.

``I'll arrange for that report presently, then,'' my father said,
sounding rather amused as he rose to his feet.

His old friend followed suit without missing a beat.

``Scribe,'' I said. ``A word, if you would. I'll require a few more
details out of you in case Hasenbach sends for a private meeting soon.
I'm not walking into that blind.''

``The report-'' she began.

``Eudokia,'' Black sharply said.

She returned to the seat. I nodded thanks at my teacher, who
acknowledged them with a discreet dip. No, he most definitely hadn't
been brought into this. I smiled at Hakram, who was lingering behind me,
and drained my cup of water before handing it to him. Clicking his fangs
in amusement, he moved to fill it again. Scribe waited patiently even as
I reached for my dragonbone pipe and slowly stuffed it, only then
clearing her throat.

``If you could refrain?'' she said.

A heartbeat later I felt Akua's working slither around us, smooth and
silent, and tapped a finger against my pipe to light it. I puffed out,
waiting until Hakram had set down the filled cup at my side before
speaking.

``You get one chance to tell me the truth,'' I said. ``After that, my
patience will run out.''

Adjutant's muscles shifted the slightest bit, coiling as he readied for
strife. He'd not hesitated in the slightest, I thought with affection.

``You are seeing shadows of your own making,'' Scribe said.

I breathed in, then spewed out a steam of smoke.

``Hakram,'' I said.

Over two hundred pounds of raw fighting orc struck with blinding
quickness, leaping across the table and catching a surprised Scribe by
the throat. She began screaming for help. I leaned back into my seat.

``We're under containment,'' I said. ``Screaming won't help.''

``They betrayed us?'' Adjutant casually asked, slamming her against the
wall and dragging her gasping form up the wall.

``She's lying,'' I said. ``But whatever she's up to, Black isn't in on
it.''

``You are making a mistake,'' Scribe gasped. ``There is no deceit, only
your need to be right.''

She didn't try to bring Black's name into this, for which I afforded her
a sliver of respect.

``You had months with the Eyes in Procer,'' I said. ``Oh, I'm sure that
everything you told us about how it unfolded is correct in detail. That
there were plants answering to Lady Ime among the mages, even that the
order to start fires near possible munition locations came from the
Tower. What I don't believe for a moment is that you couldn't have
prevented it from happening. You had \emph{months} with the Eyes in
Procer, Scribe. What was your game?''

Black, I thought, would not question her story. It wouldn't even occur
to him, I thought, the same way that it would not occur to me to wonder
if Adjutant was lying to me. Too much of the bedrock of who we were
depended on the certainty that they could be relied on, even when all
else failed.

``Sometimes we fail, Catherine Foundling,'' Scribe gasped. ``Sometimes
it is not malice, or scheme, or treachery. Sometimes we just
\emph{fail}.''

``I will torture you,'' I frankly said. ``I won't like it, but the
stakes here are too high for me to leave stones unturned out of
squeamishness. I'll bleed you, and if that doesn't work I'll ask one of
my people to peel your mind like an onion until the secrets come
spilling out.''

``We trained this in you,'' Scribe laughed. ``I suppose it is our own
doing, in the end. There is nothing to be found, Black Queen, save the
unravelling of what you have wrought.''

I blew out a long breath.

``Rip out an eye,'' I said.

It occurred to me a moment later that Hakram had only one hand left,
made of bone, and that it was already holding up Scribe by the throat. I
had begun to rise, to do the dirty work myself, when I saw Adjutant was
moving. At the end of his stump folds of gleaming translucence were
taking shape, almost spectral on appearance. They folded into
themselves, methodically, until a broad clawed hand had come together. I
glanced at his face, saw only the pleased baring of fangs, and the point
of two claws touched above and beneath Scribe's eye. And then the hand
dispersed.

``No,'' Adjutant said.

I blinked in surprise.

``Pain won't do anything to a woman like that, Catherine,'' Hakram said,
calmly studying Scribe. ``And neither will something live having her
mind sliced open.''

``We don't have anything else to threaten her with, Adjutant,'' I flatly
said.

``We do,'' he disagreed. ``Send for the Carrion Lord. Let him see
this.''

I began to tell him I'd sent Black away in the first place to spare him
this when I noticed stillness. Scribe had gone utterly still, even
through her aspect I could feel that. Hakram had found the pulse of her,
somehow.

``She's not kept him ignorant out of disloyalty,'' Adjutant said. ``Have
you, Scribe?''

Silence.

``I suppose you would understand, wouldn't you?'' Scribe rasped.

``You love him,'' Hakram Deadhand said, almost gently. ``Not a call of
the flesh or a tender feeling. The way a knife loves a steady hand, the
way a sparrow loves flight. It can't be helped.''

It felt wrong, to be here. Like I was intruding on a moment to which I
alone of us could claim no kinship. Yet my mind turned heedless of the
rest, cogs falling into place. The details had been there all along,
hadn't they? The conversations I'd had with Scribe were few, but one had
mattered more than the rest. When I'd tread the halls of the Tower for
the fist time, and she had whispered a dangerous secret in my ear.
\emph{Ranger and I disagreed on many matters, Catherine, but there was
one thing we always agreed on.} Was it really that simple, that\ldots{}
I hesitated to say petty, but what else could it be called? No, not
petty. Personal, and in a way that was worse.

``Malicia,'' I croaked out. ``This wasn't about Procer or the Accords or
anything else. You did all this so he would have no choice but to kill
Malicia when he returns to the Wasteland.''
