\hypertarget{chapter-82-delegations}{%
\section{Chapter 82: Delegations}\label{chapter-82-delegations}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Trouble reveals either true friends or a corpse.''}

-- Arlesite saying
\end{quote}

I'd charged Vivienne with handling the ceremonies from our end and come
out pleased with the arrangements.

Mostly for the swiftness of them, truth be told, as instead of
squabbling with the Procerans and the rest over pre-eminence and
etiquette she'd cut through the waste and agreed the Callowan delegation
would be the fourth to enter the hall. After the Proceran one -- save
for the First Prince herself, who would be the last person to enter --
and the other two current members of the Grand Alliance, Levant and
Ashur. Out of the twenty delegates I'd brought a share of five had been
set aside for Black, who'd brought in Scribe as one of them as well as
two translators and an officer from the Legions-in-Exile. My people were
a little more varied in nature, though it couldn't be denied that we
were thin on the ground when it came to actual diplomats. The Empress
and the High Seats would have trained diplomats, usually highborn,
truthfully not unlike the way the Old Kingdom had usually sent powerful
and trusted nobles to talks with foreigners. I'd had precious few
aristocrats I could call on even before I'd crushed their overly
ambitious faction in my court, though, and the few I had a modicum of
trust for were already in military or administrative positions. I
couldn't exactly pull away Grandmaster Talbot from his knights simply to
bolster my delegation's prestige, not when he was so much more useful at
the Hellhound's side.

The presence of Lady Vivienne Dartwick, heiress-designate to Callow and
arguably these days my main diplomat, had never been in doubt. Neither
had been Lord Adjutant's -- who was one of the only two orcs in the room
and so stood out not unlike a bull surrounded by lambs -- or General
Abigail's, as my respective right hand and the ranking commander of the
forces I'd brought to Salia. The dark-haired general had discreetly
downed half flask of brandy before we set out in what I took to be an
attempt at fortifying her spirits, and ever since tired with admirable
effort to attract the least attention possible even though her
ceremonial armour clearly indicated her rank as one of the ten highest
officers in the Army of Callow. I had two sapper officers with me chosen
at Pickler's recommendation, one specialized in fortifications and the
other in war engines, and beyond that mostly civilians. Scribes and
translators from the personal staff Vivienne had brought across the
Whitecaps, as well as the closest thing we had to a scholar of Proceran
etiquette -- Henrietta Morley, eldest daughter and heiress of Baroness
Ainsley of Harrow. Vivienne had apparently set her to studying with the
now-abdicated Prince Amadis to shore up what she'd been taught by
tutors, the former Prince of Iserre apparently having been thoroughly
amused he was being asked for etiquette lessons and not state secrets.

After us the Empire Ever Dark was to follow in, General Rumena having
gathered a band of ten sigil-holders for prestige, accompanied by Ivah
and three dzulu from the Losara because \emph{someone} needed to take
notes and few Mighty were all that likely to do so. Ivah had told me
that the Losara Sigil's sworn duty of marking down the oaths made by
sigil-holders had actually been drawing to its ranks Firstborn inclined
towards scholarly pursuits. Though literacy was one of the more common
Secrets, the Losara were beginning to stand out in that even dzulu were
expected to know their full glyphs. Akua had once, after a few drinks,
gotten into a heated debate with Indrani about whether the surprisingly
high literacy rate of the Firstborn was because there had been more drow
when the Night was formed and so literacy became more common along all
lines when the population number reduced, or because it was one of the
few things no one would bother to kill over and so a harmless skill to
learn the old-fashioned way. I knew not the answers, and even the
Sisters had given ambiguous reply, but whatever the truth of it I
suspected the Firstborn could only benefit from the prominence of such
knowledge deepening with every generation. Not that they'd
ceased\ldots{} acquiring through the old means. Of the ten
sigil-holders, all familiar to me, all spoke Chantant and three
Tolesian. One had even acquired Lunara from the Princes' Graveyard,
which I was pretty sure Rumena had almost killed it for. Getting the
drow to, uh, do that less often was admittedly something of a work in
progress. I'd made sure to get oaths none of them would fight here, even
against each other.

The delegation for the League of Free Cities would be the last to enter,
and though I'd yet to see them with my own eyes Vivienne had made
inquiries as to its composition. It was about what one would expect from
an alliance as shaky as the League tended to be even when it had common
enemies. The Tyrant and his favourite commander, General Basilia -- who
I'd met her once before, at Rochelant -- were clearly the heart of it,
but all cities seemed to have claimed seats as well. Basileus Leo Trakas
of Nicae and his personal scribe, the two self-proclaimed Exarchs of
Penthes, a senior member of the Secretariat with a lesser one carrying
his ink and parchment, the Bellerophon's appointed general and his
minder from the \emph{kanenas}, one of the foremost Magisters of Stygia,
Zoe Ixioni, and two preachers from Atalante. These last two had for some
reason been made to carry a copy of the Book of All Things nailed to a
plank and were seemingly deeply offended by it, though the other
delegates seemed to find it most amusing. Like everyone else they'd
brought translators aplenty, and even a few scribes for what I assumed
would be their common records. There was no trace of the Hierarch, which
was cause for both relief and renewed wariness.

The Jacks had found no sign of the Dead King among the delegation but
that meant little. He was not the kind of monster that would be found
unless he wished to be.

``Queen Catherine Foundling of Callow, First of Her Name, Protector of
Daoine and high priestess of the Empire Ever Dark.''

We'd not waited long before the painted gates barring the hall, for we'd
been fetched only when the Dominion's delegation was already moving, but
it'd been long enough for my thoughts to drift. As the gates swung open
and the majordomo's voice ran, I was jolted back to full attention and
stepped forward. The Cloak of Woe trailed behind me as I limped forward,
leaning on my staff of yew. No plate for me today, not if I was to be
seated for hours while talking, though the dark embroidered tunic that'd
been chosen for me was discreetly padded. Enough it could blunt a knife,
if one found its way into my ribs. Hakram knew me well. Belted across my
body under my breasts and at belly height, the tunic was almost
uncomfortably high-collared and came down to my hips, where I'd
prevailed when demanding trousers and comfortable leather boots. I'd had
a look at the effect of it in the mirror that morning, and though it
made it rather plain I was\ldots{} less than curvy, when matched with my
cloak it also leant a certain severe martial look I rather liked. The
crown on my brow was the same I had worn at my coronation: a thing of
jagged iron that dug into my scalp, though since my crowning a single
pitch-black piece of onyx had been set at the front of it.

A murmur passed through assembly as I entered, and though I'd hardly
expected a tavern's common room to serve as our place of gathering I was
still faintly surprised as the sheer size of it. The tea hall where I'd
met with Hasenbach yesterday had been beautiful but not overdone, but
this? You could fit a garrison in here, if you piled them up. I'd never
seen ceilings so tall save at the cathedral in Laure, and the dome there
was not bordered by sculpted gold depicting passages from the Book of
All Things. The dome's surface was a superb painting of the founding of
Procer, beginning at the collapse of the Tower and ending with the
election of Clothor Merovins as First Prince. The hall itself was a
broad circle touched by painted doors at an interval that was pleasing
to the eye, as were the ornate golden arcs filled with the Merovins
heraldry above the doors. The marble of the square pillars holding up
the dome was bare, though polished, in what was clearly a conscious
choice to allow the brown tone to stand out and contrast with the white
and gold that was otherwise prominent. The floor beneath my feet, itself
also pure marble, was of the same tone and so perfectly polished it
could serve as a mirror. The circle shape of the hall had leant itself
well to the arrangements, curved tables radiating out from the centre at
increasingly longer length. There was a broad avenue between each set of
tables, of which there was one for every delegation, which allowed
servants and attendants to come and go with ease.

The announcements continued behind me as the rest of my delegation
entered behind me, and I cast a look at those delegations already
inside. That of the Dominion of Levant I recognized well, as I'd at one
time or another fought most of them. Lord Yannu Marave of Alava, of the
Champion's Blood, had been the leading Grand Alliance general for most
of the Princes' Graveyard. Big man, muscled like an ox and with that
unsettling calm that never seemed to thaw. Lady Itima Ifriqui of Vaccei,
of the Brigand's Blood. Old but lean and whip-hard, before the Tenth
Crusade she'd brutally raided Orense and nearly started a way with
Procer. Juniper said she and her brood of sons were cunning as vipers
and just as vicious, and she'd know: they'd fought running battles
across half of the Principate. Lady Aquiline Osena of Tartessos, of the
Slayer's Blood, who sadly was not wearing the tight leather vest and
paints she'd on last I saw her. Slender and graceful with coiled
muscles, she was said to be a fine killer and a more than passingly
skilled intriguer. Mighty Jindrich had sung her praises after the
Graveyard, boasting in her stead of having killed it once and suggesting
she be offered the opportunity to be slain in single combat and
harvested so her Night could toughen up one of our weaker Mighty.

The last was the most familiar of old, Razin Tanja of the Binder's
Blood. Heir to Malaga, though as I understood it Levantine inheritance
laws meant he could not be lord of Malaga until he returned there to be
acclaimed by his kin. It spoke well of his influence that he sat at the
same table as the ruling lord and ladies, though, and the way his eyes
and Aquiline Osena's kept finding each other and lingering told me there
might be some `diplomacy' going on there. He looked older, I thought.
Still sharp-boned and handsome, but where before his eyes had been raw
emotion now there was a colder fire in them. Purpose, I decided. It
tempered people like nothing else, that cold blaze. That one had gone
through crucibles, at Sarcella and the Graveyard, and perhaps become the
better for it. I winked at him and he replied with a scowl. To my
amusement, I saw as my gaze moved on that Tariq was not seated at the
Dominion's foremost table. He was only at the second, making a show of
his lack of formal authority, and Gods but he must have insisted to be
seated there. I'd bet the Blood would have preferred him to be the sole
person on the first rung and the rest of them where he now sat. I
inclined my head in a polite greeting, and he did the same.

Ashur's delegation was a bare bones affair. To the left of the Proceran
one, as the Dominion was to its right, it counted a mere ten men and
women in saffron-coloured robes. The important one was an official from
the committee the Thalassocracy had formed to oversee its presence in
the Grand Alliance. Sitter Ahirom Seneqart was a tanned young man of
exquisite manners but whose role as the voice of the Ashuran bureaucracy
on the continent had dipped into irrelevance with the annihilation of
the greater part of Ashuran fleets at Thalassina followed by an
immediate sucker punch of the League's own fleets. With the
Thalassocracy's star being rather dependant on its supremacy at sea, his
influence would have waned and these days he was unlikely to be anything
more than an official mouthpiece for the decisions of Magon Hadast, the
ruler of Ashur. I'd just finished studying the Ashurans as much as I
could without being rude when the last of my delegations' announcements
came: \emph{Lord Amadeus of Praes, the Carrion Lord.} Attendants ushered
us to our slice of the hall, which was to the side of the Dominion. Our
foremost table remained light: myself, between Vivienne and Hakram, and
to Adjutant's side sat Black. Behind my father the Praesi `delegation'
radiated out, as behind me the Callowan one did.

It felt like half the damned room was looking at me, so as a distraction
I looked up the Procerans. Theirs was by far the largest presence --
there must have been at least sixty people at their tables -- and they
were certainly heavy on royalty. Princess Rozala Malanza met my eye and
returned my polite nod. I was surprised to see Louis Rohanon behind her,
the former Prince of Creusens apparently serving as an aide. Brother
Simon of the Holy Society I recognized form yesterday, but few of the
other faces. I leaned forward Vivienne, who helpfully provided names to
match.

``To Simon de Gorgeault's left, the man who looks like the dried up
remains of a man?'' she murmured into my ear. ``That's Louis de Satrons,
the head of the Circle of Thorns.''

Cordelia's spies abroad, and from Black had told me by far the most
competent of her spymasters. Considering one had been a traitor and the
other missed a conspiracy that involved half the upper priesthood of
Procer when that priesthood was his very area of expertise, that might
not have been a difficult crown to claim. Louis de Sartons had beady and
watchful eyes, I thought, made even more prominent by his almost
skeletal thinness.

``Tanned man with the mustache, middle-aged?'' she continued. ``Prince
Renato of Salamans. His brother Alvaro died fighting the Stygians down
south. He's fresh to the throne but he's been his brother's man in Salia
for years, he's one of Hasenbach's most loyal backers. Fought for her
during the coup, too, so he's bound to be in favour. The blond with the
well-cut beard if Prince Ariel of Arans -- not a Hasenbach supporter but
not an enemy either, and he came out more or less on her side when the
blades went bare.''

Prince Ariel of Arans's lands would also be playing host to both the
Army of Callow and the Legions-in-Exile soon enough, which I imagined
had informed his lack of support for the coup. The Proceran delegation's
arraignment was actually slightly different from the rest. A small and
luxurious table had been set most forward, presumably for the First
Prince, yet there were two seats awaiting there. Slightly back and to
the left the table with the spymasters stood, though once more an empty
seat awaited at the table, and on a mirroring table to the right the two
princes and Rozala were seated. From there the tables radiated as
everyone else's delegations, though the missing seats rather drew my
eye.

``I would have expected Princess Rozala to have that seat at Hasenbach's
side, if anyone,'' Hakram murmured.

``Coup's still too fresh,'' Vivienne disagreed.

``It is the first official event with foreigners since the coup,'' Black
softly agreed. ``Malanza has to be clearly shown as subordinate. Sitting
her with two known princely supporters of Cordelia Hasenbach adroitly
addressed the issue without slighting anyone. Note that of the three
Rozala Malanza is seated closes to the high table, an acknowledgement of
influence.''

The Firstborn delegation was announced before the conversation could
continued, beginning with \emph{General Rumena of the Empire Ever Dark,
the Tomb-Maker}. I'd actually made a note of the proper titles for all
the Mighty before passing it on to the Procerans, and I was pleased to
see they'd actually observed the courtesies. Ivah was even addressed as
Lord of Silent Steps, though like everyone's attendants the dzulu
accompanying it went unnamed. They made waves, the drow. Their
procession as they entered Salia had drawn eyes as well, but today they
had come in their full ceremonial glory instead of their war-making
clothes, and it could not be denied they were a sight. Grey skin and
silver-blue eyes were half-covered by the colourful paint of sigils,
from Rumena's ochre and gold to my Losara's purple and silver. They wore
strips of obsidian and exquisitely woven clothes, all dripping with
jewels and gold, and though perhaps on a human it would have been mocked
as vulgar on the drow it made them look like the exotic princes of a
distant land. I even caught a few eyes lingering, though anyone trying
to talk a drow into a night on the sheets should be prepared for
disappointment. Firstborn had little interest in such affairs, save for
the lowest among them -- and even then, only for a certain part of their
lives.

The Tomb-Maker sat alone at the leading table, and none even thought to
contest this.

``That leaves the League seated next to the Ashurans,'' Vivienne
murmured, sounding amused. ``Hasenbach has a sense of humour, it
seems.''

She was right about the seating, at least: only one slice of the circle
remained free, between the Firstborn and Ashur's delegation. I was less
certain it'd been meant humorously, however. It would bring a pressure
to bear, the two colluding parties being side by side in their corner
and bearing the weight of everyone else's disapproval. The
Thalassocracy's envoys had no real say in the decision they were to
announce, but this could be a passingly clever ploy if aimed at the
League. The Tyrant was a fearless madman, true enough, but not all of
the Free Cities boasted such spirit. Some would see the writing on the
wall, and weigh whether following their madman Hierarch and madder
Tyrant was truly worth antagonizing every other nation in this hall so
deeply.

``I would not venture to give you orders, Carrion Lord,'' Adjutant said,
sounding pained, ``but perhaps it would be wiser to cease smiling so at
the Pilgrim.''

I turned to a glare at Black, whose apparent calm was marred by a
vicious little twist of the lips.

``I was merely greeting an old acquaintance,'' Black said.

Tariq's lips were pressed thin, and though obviously my teacher was the
one being a shit there I was still a little miffed that it took so
little to provoke the Peregrine. It was like Black's presence here was
an insult already and the slightest addition to it was enough to tip the
vase. I incline my head in implicit apology and after a moment he
accepted it.

``You going to taunt Hasenbach too?'' I muttered under my breath,
casting a dark look at him.

He shook his head.

``I've nothing but respect for the First Prince,'' he calmly said. ``A
thoroughly competent woman. Had our interests not been so completely at
odds for the entirety of our careers, I might even have been personally
fond of her.''

I frowned at him.

``Didn't she try to have you taken from the Pilgrim and decapitated?'' I
asked.

``As I said,'' he smiled, ``a \emph{thoroughly} competent woman.''

Maybe that shouldn't have surprised me, coming from the same man whose
response to learning thousands of knights had slipped his watch in the
south had been mourning the likely death of whoever had first come up
with the plan to achieve that. The League's delegation was announced
moments later and I trusted Vivienne and Hakram to memorize the names
while I was seeing to more important business: namely, watching raptly
what was intended for the Book of All Things nailed to a plank. The
League's front table ended up rather crowded, as few were willing to
surrender a seat there even if the room was limited, and to my utter
delight one of the two Atalante delegates was forced to relinquish his
seat to the book -- the plank was propped up against the chair, the book
lulling open lazily. Mere moments after the League settled into their
seats, the majordomo struck the floor with his staff of office and the
entire Proceran delegation rose to its feet. None of the Blood did, save
for the Pilgrim, nor the League's rulers. The Firstborn did not stir,
and among my tables Black and I stayed seated. Cordelia Hasenbach
entered the hall from the door at the back of the Proceran tables and
strode forward flanked on both sides.

One of the two was a woman, blonde and short-haired and wearing a rather
loose dress. I knew her not by sight, but the similarities with
Hasenbach's face and her own hinted at the answer. Agnes Hasenbach, the
Augur, was cousin to the First Prince. As to the other, there was no
need to wonder: the White Knight was familiar enough a sight. Well now,
I'd wondered in what capacity he would attend. Hanno split off before
the Hasenbach, coming to stand by the empty seat with the two
spymasters, and Agnes Hasenbach was eased into the seat to the First
Prince's left at the high table. Finally, Cordelia Hasenbach smiled at
the assembly and elegantly sat. All who had risen followed seat, and a
moment later the First Prince of Procer broke the silence.

``And so I declare this conference to have begun, under auspices of
truce,'' the First Prince said.

The Tyrant, in the heartbeat that followed, clear his throat.

``Your Most Serene Highness, if I might be allowed to address the
point?''

I met Cordelia Hasenbach's eyes from my side of the room and smiled a
hard smile. \emph{All right, Hasenbach,} I thought. \emph{Let's see what
you and I can achieve, when we're on the same side.}
