\hypertarget{chapter-42-castigation}{%
\section{Chapter 42: Castigation}\label{chapter-42-castigation}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Do not look down on fear, my friend: it is the rare case of a
voice in your head actually helpful to your survival.''}

-- Dread Empress Prudence, the `Frequently Vanquished'
\end{quote}

I'd seen some profoundly beautiful things over the years. I sometimes
liked to remind myself of that when the bad days came. I'd seen the
first breaths of Liesse reborn under twilight, the peace born of a good
man's sacrifice. I'd walked the ancient cities of the Everdark, where
flowers lit up the dark and poetry paved the streets as a riot of
colours claimed the rooftops. I'd been hosted in the finest palaces of
Salia, felt a storm sweep over me from the heights of the Tower and
strolled through the mad bazaar at the heart of Skade. I'd even glimpsed
the last glory days of Sephirah, before death came for it. I'd seen
wonders enough to fill two lifetimes, and perhaps before I died I might
see yet a few more. It felt good to remember that, to believe that.

But I'd known terrors the likes of which few could fathom, too, and it
was those I would be calling on for this kind of work.

There was no lack of them to draw from. Black had preferred. I recalled,
to use fear as a watchman's cudgel: sparingly, measuredly, and always
bluntly. He'd seen it as a tool, and not a particularly good one. But
while my father had been my first teacher, he'd not been the only one.
I'd learned from the Empress and the Diabolist, exemplars of the most
horrifying Wasteland virtues, and then from even harsher creatures. The
King of Winter and his patient, farsighted cruelties. Shrouded Sve Noc,
a godhead born of fear and blood and kept hallowed through the same.
Even the Dead King had, in his own way, been a teacher: you could not
fight such a monster as long as I had without learning some of its ways.
And so, honouring those many tutelages, I set to crafting horror.

I began with the smell.

Death had a particular reek to it. It came to the aftermath of battles
along with the rest of the carrion, that stench of blood and shit and
steel -- with the rotting of flesh never far behind, even as the crows
gobbled up the dead and flies burrowed into the flesh. I drew from the
Doom, from the Battle of the Camps, but it wouldn't be enough. Death
come to a city wasn't quite the same, even before stone and flesh began
to burn green. A hint of the Hierarch's madness spread through the
streets of Rochelant, red hate bleeding out of every pore, and more from
the burning blaze of green that'd begun at my very feet and devoured a
fourth of Summerholm. All this I wove together and made my own, then
slipped into the sleeping mind of Ambassador Livia Murena.

Her sleeping self sunk into the dark and gave me my opening: a glimpse
of the winding streets and beautiful avenues of Mercantis. Night
coursing through my veins like a river, eyes closed as I cut myself off
from my senses and skimmed around the edge of the wards protecting the
ambassador just the way Hierophant had taught me, I smiled and sunk my
teeth into the older woman.

I began with murder. Livia Murena felt warm blood splash her face as a
drow in the colours of the Losara opened the throat of a man with an
obsidian blade. The ambassador screamed and stumbled away, wiping away
with her hands and finding them soiled red. There was no relief to be
found away from the drow. She turned the corner into an avenue only to
find it burning green, legionaries dragging people out of houses and
butchering them in the streets, eyes cold and hands steady. Livia Murena
ran, finding a large plaza with a sprawling marble fountain, but painted
Levantines of the Brigand's Blood were there. Some amused themselves by
drowning people, holding their heads under the water until the panicked
scrabbling against the stone died, while others were pulling down a
great statue with hammers and rope. Livia Murena let out a strangled
sob, and as she did a painted warrior threw a barbed javelin at her that
tore through the flesh of her shoulder.

Bleeding, in pain, she ran again.

She found only horror. Orcs tearing at the corpses of merchant lords
with hungry fangs, armoured ogres smashing through villa gates to rip
apart those huddling behind them, Taghreb and Soninke making bonfires of
paintings and tapestries to roast the loot they'd ripped out of pantries
over the corpses of their owners. Goblins made servants race only to
shoot them in the back with crossbows, the drow blinded the young and
let them bleed out screaming, jeering Callowans dragged entire families
to the gallows to hang. Livia Murena wept but kept running until she
found a tall house. Hers, I intuited, but it was not the house she
sought. A wife, and though the face did not come to my mind's eye long
blonde tresses and fair skin did. It was enough.

Green flames and heavy smoked filled the halls of Livia Murena's home as
she raced through them and up, up the stairs and at the end of a
too-long hallways where finally her great bedroom could be found. Relief
as she found her wife standing there, besides the great canopy bed.
\emph{Cassia}, she exclaimed. With a crisp, resonating twang a coin went
spinning. Livia Murena's eyes went to it, spellbound, watched it rise
and fall and land onto the open palm of the Black Queen, who had been
sitting in the dark. The coin, shining gold, had landed on the side
showing crossed swords.

``Do you believe in fate, Ambassador Livia?'' I asked.

And before she could answer, her wife burned green. I drew on the
screams from Three Hills, for that. I remembered those well. Cassia
screamed and screamed and \emph{screamed}, until mercifully she died. I
met Livia Murena's eyes and smiled, thin and sharp like a blade slid
between the ribs.

``Not the right answer,'' I told her. ``Let us go again.''

And we did.

Mercantis was put to the sword and the coin showed swords and Cassia
burned.

``Not the right answer,'' I told the weeping ambassador. ``Let us go
again.''

And we did.

And we did.

And we did.

Nott until dawn did I let her learn the lesson this had been meant to
convey. Cassia burned, the screaming having grown more vivid as the
sleeping ambassador filled the gaps, and Livia wept exhaustedly as she
fell on her knees. Like an old friend I leaned forward, offering a
girlishly mischievous smile.

``Fate's a trick, Livia,'' I told her, and showed her the coin.

It had the crossed swords on both sides.

``The only way not to fall for it,'' I said, gently smiling, ``is not to
flip the coin at all.''

I left her dreams alone, after that, but she slept not a wink anyway.

---

I was in Hakram's infirmary room more often than my own quarters, or the
offices made available to me -- I'd pretty much handed those over to
Vivienne -- so it was there that messengers came to find me. It was the
same with Archer, when she returned from the little errand I'd sent her
on. I dipped my bread in the warm potage that was to be my morning meal,
cocking an eyebrow at my friend.

``So?''

``Didn't drive her mad,'' Indrani replied, settling into the seat by my
side, ``but I'd bet it was a close thing.''

I popped the bread into my mouth and chewed on my mouthful thoughtfully.
I'd walked the line just fine, then. If I kept doing this for too long
I'd probably break the ambassador, which wasn't the objective here, but
I wanted at least one more night of this. Once could be dismissed as a
fluke, but twice? Twice was a warning.

``What'd she look like?'' I asked when I'd swallowed.

``Exhausted and twitchy,'' Indrani said. ``You really didn't pull your
punches there.''

``She needs to be more scared of me than she is of Malicia,'' I replied,
``and if we're to get through this without Mercantis trying to blackmail
the Grand Alliance, then I need that fear deep enough in the bone that
they know \emph{exactly} what the consequences of that would be.''

``Hey,'' Archer shrugged, ``you know me -- I could care less if you want
to turn the lot of them into gibbering wrecks. I'm just surprised it's
the two of us alone having this conversation, I guess.''

I threw her an unimpressed look. That had been less than subtle.

``If you have something to say, say it,'' I told her.

She sighed, passing a hand through her long dark hair. Unbound, today,
and a little messy. It suited her.

``You been fighting with Vivienne?'' she asked.

My fingers clenched. She noticed it, unpleasantly perceptive as she was.

``So that's a yes,'' Archer mused. ``I'd ask you if you want to talk
about it, but I don't think you've ever actually answered that question
with a yes in your life.''

``That's pretty rich, coming from you,'' I flatly said.

Our last tense heart to heart had required half a fistfight to get
started. She looked more amused than offended, waving the reply away.

``Sort that shit out, Cat,'' Indrani said. ``I won't try to use sweet
reason with you, because Gods know the odds on that are steep-''

``\emph{Hey},'' I reproached.

``- but her sister cold-hearted logic will do,'' Indrani blithely
continued. ``It's too late for you to dismiss Vivienne from her place as
your heiress: she's got support, and when it comes to us she knows where
a lot of bodies are buried. So if you won't talk to her because she's
your friend and you're being pissy for things not really her fault, then
at least do it because otherwise you're being a pretty terrible queen.''

I grimaced. Archer didn't really care about Callow except maybe in the
sense that a lot of her stuff was there and it'd affect some people she
cared about if it got destroyed, but that didn't mean she was unaware it
was good angle to take with me. She wasn't wrong, at least, that I
couldn't just let this go forever.

``I don't like that I have to do things, now,'' I admitted.

Indrani's brow rose. I snorted.

``I mean that, when we disagree, I have to compromise with her now,'' I
explained. ``Not always, and not on everything, but it still irks that I
have to do it at all. I gave her the title in the first place, and
`Drani it's not that I think she'd done badly with it, on the
contrary-''

``But she's got power of her own now,'' Archer finished. ``And she
doesn't always agree with you.''

``I can't just tell her to fuck off either, when we disagree,'' I
tiredly said. ``If I do that in public she'll lose a lot of support in
the Army of Callow, and if she loses the Army there's a lot less
dissuading nobles from taking a swing at the crown down the line.''

It wouldn't be a sure thing, and I was doing my best to polish her
military record so that she'd have some reputation with the soldiers,
but at the end of the day Vivienne just didn't get on with them the way
that I did. On occasion I'd taken some petty satisfaction in that, given
how the nobility made no qualms of its preference for her and more
people back home that I was comfortable with shared that opinion, but it
was a hollow thing to embrace. After putting her in that position in the
first place, how much of a prick would I have to be to relish her
difficulties? It wasn't a minor matter, either. There weren't Dartwick
household troops for Vivienne to call on, she had no personal holdings
and most noble forces had either been abolished with their titles or
curtailed under Imperial law. Within Callow, after the war it would the
army Juniper and I had built that'd stand as the largest amount of
people with swords.

My banner had the sword weighing more than the crown on the balance for
a reason.

``I bet it's like a burr in your boot that some of the folk back home
like her better now,'' Indrani knowingly said.

I breathed out, keeping my face calm.

``I'm starting to get tired of hearing that,'' I evenly said.

She squinted at me.

``Yeah, that's about the face you would have made,'' Archer said. ``And
Viv's never been great at handling your moods, so now you two fine
ladies are in snit. Lovely.''

``It'll pass,'' I grunted.

``It'll pass when you have a drink with her and you spell it out,''
Indrani said. ``But you already know that, Cat, you just don't want to
do it. I'm guessing you'll get to it once you're done tripping over the
pride you keep claiming you don't have.''

I flipped her off, but without much heat, and she took it in stride.

``Go find out what the Mercantis delegation will do to proper up their
defences after tonight,'' I said, having tired of this conversation the
moment it began. ``I want to know as soon as possible so I'll know how
to get around it.''

Another night of this, maybe two, and then I'd be ready for the talks.
Even as she left, I began to consider the shape of the nightmare that
would plague Livia Murena tonight.

It was not going to be any more pleasant that the last.

---

I'd let Hasenbach pick the room where, at long last, the diplomats would
get their meeting.

I went to visit it beforehand though, to have a look at what I'd be
working with. It was yet another hall from the seemingly endless supply
of them the Arsenal had to offer, though this one was clearly not meant
for meals. Multiple tables facing each other in half-circles, enough
room between for servants to pass and no less than six ways in -- as
much for refreshments as the fetching of documents, I figured. Well lit,
but with chandeliers and mage lights. I could work my way around both of
those, I knew the tricks. It would do. I'd need to strike the right tone
from the start, though. Come in alone and with not a thing in hand, when
they'd be laden with attendants and papers.

I trailed a hand atop the smooth surface of the table, enjoying the
grain of the wood, and frowned in thought. Ambassador Livia had only
gone though another night of my tender attentions before I -- Archer --
had judged her to be on the ragged edge. Not a faint-hearted sort, that
one, but I suspected a great deal more used to doling out cruelty than
suffering it. Part of me wanted to throw in another night just to be
sure, but there would be risks to that: the protective amulets the
ambassador had worn after the first time might not have been a match for
Night paired with the Hierophant's eyes, but if the Mercantians asked
for heroic protection this would get trickier. No, best to end it here.

Today, this very evening.

I napped through most of the afternoon, as using Night had been less
than restful, and woke less than half a bell before we were due to hold
the meeting. The clothes I was to wear were only of middling import, a
simple grey tunic and matching trousers, but I made sure to wrap around
myself the patchwork banners of the Mantle of Woe and set a jagged iron
crown on my brow. With the last errand I'd asked of Indrani tucked away
into my pocket and my dead staff of yew in my hand I limped to our
appointed time, though with careful timing so that I would be the last
to arrive. Not so late that it would be remarked upon, but just enough
to be mildly insulting. The doors were opened for me by attendants, and
even as my name and titles were announced I flicked an assessing glance
at the people within.

That Cordelia Hasenbach had brought a number of scholars and secretaries
was nothing unusual, but that she'd brought a full fifteen people with
her \emph{was}. She must have pieced together that she'd be handling the
actual negotiations here mostly on her own. My gaze did not linger on
them, instead moving to the delegation from Mercantis. Ambassador Livia
Murena was easy to pick out from the rest: she sat at the centre, and
her ostentatious gold and ivory chain of office was hard to miss. On the
ivory medallion at the end of it thirty silver coins had been carved,
the ancient crest of the merchant lords of the Consortium. Seven golden
braids hung from her left shoulder, over a robe of deep blue silk that
made it plain the ambassador was overweight.

Most of the diplomats were as well, for fat was considered a sign of
wealth and power among the merchant lords of Mercantis. All wore blue
silk and the seven braids denoting that they were here on the behalf of
both Merchant Prince Fabianus and the Consortium itself -- the prince's
business could carry three braids of gold, and the Consortium's seven in
silver, but only both in agreement could command the seven golden
stripes -- but for all the riot of bracelets and rings dripping from
their arms and ears laden with and precious stones, no one save
Ambassador wore anything around the neck. Each diplomat had an attendant
standing behind them, all of them young and beautiful and utterly still.
Mercantis did not practice slavery, it was said. Of the Free Cities,
only Stygia still kept to that horror.

Yet Indrani had been raised a slave there, and called such, though no
doubt if pressed her owner would have had papers proving it was mere
bonded service. All very legal, nothing at all like \emph{slavery}. That
was the trick, you see: the `servants' began with the debt of the sum it
had cost to acquire them, and though they were paid for their work the
roof and food they were provided cost them money. The debt increased,
and the service continued until death -- and then was passed onto
children, for debts always carried in Mercantis. I kept that knowledge
in mind, looking at the dark rings around Ambassador Livia's pale brown
eyes that cosmetics did not quite manage to hide, and found that guilt
never came for the torturous horror I'd put this woman through.

I'd done worse to people a great deal less deserving.

``Queen Catherine,'' the First Prince greeted me amiably. ``I am glad of
your presence.''

``Your Majesty,'' Ambassador Livia said, tone even, ``we are-''

``Let's wrap this up quickly, Your Highness,'' I interrupted, looking at
Cordelia. ``There's a war on, in case you forgot.''

The ambassador was well-trained, so she did not betray her offence at
the casually offered insult. It wouldn't be the first I'd thrown her way
since this started.

``I assure you, Your Majesty, that I have not,'' the First Prince
replied, eyebrows rising the faintest bit.

A warning to tone this down? No, I decided after a moment. She would
have had other ways to reach me if restraint were called for. I slid
into the seat at the edge of the part of the half-circle kept empty for
myself and my delegation, seeing from the corner of my eye the dismay
that flickered across some Mercantian faces when they realized I had
come alone. That was not the mark of someone taking all this seriously.
I drew lightly on the Night, softly, and wove a thread that slipped into
the shadows beneath the table and to the side. It remained hidden,
waiting. I leaned back into my seat, looking impatient, and waited for
someone to speak.

``I must protest the insults you keep offering us, Queen Catherine,''
Ambassador Livia said. ``Has the Consortium not been a generous and
understanding ally? What have we done to earn such treatment?''

This was the part, I thought, where I was supposed to demur and weave
and bob and all those little diplomatic dances. So we could keep talking
in precise truths and pretty lies, keep this all civilized as we tried
to a war of words just as dangerous as one of steel. I did not bother.

``Either you genuinely don't know the answer to that question,'' I said,
``and speaking with you is a waste of time. Or you \emph{do} know the
answer to that question, and you are \emph{still} wasting my time. Which
is it, Ambassador Livia?''

Her face tightened for the barest fraction of a moment before going
almost unnaturally slack. That one had stung, huh. I glanced at the
First Prince, whose face was the very definition of polite serenity.

``Is this serious?'' I asked.

``It is, Queen Catherine,'' Cordelia amiably replied, then half-glanced
at the diplomats. ``Though perhaps we should see to the purpose of this
meeting, given the demands made by circumstance on all our hours.''

Under the table, she traced with a finger a \emph{Y} against the Night.
\emph{Yes}, it meant. I was not to keep pushing them, she wanted this to
advance.

``That would suit as well,'' the man to the ambassador's side smoothly
said. ``If there are no further objections?''

An expectant gaze went to me. Ambassador Livia had regained her calm on
more than a surface level, so it was her I replied to.

``By all means,'' I drily said. ``The suspense has me all atwitter.''

``Given information recently acquired by the Consortium, it has become
necessary to revisit the matter of the loans extended to the Grand
Alliance,'' the ambassador said.

\emph{N}, Hasenbach's fingers traced against the table. I pushed back my
chair and rose to my feet.

``There are no such loans,'' I flatly said. ``As Lord Yannu Marave made
exceedingly clear, I believe. This meeting is at an end.''

She looked, to my faint amusement, genuinely surprised. For career
diplomats, they really weren't catching on to this game quick. It wasn't
that they were fools, I thought, but simply that they weren't used to so
bluntly being \emph{dismissed}. Mercantis might not be a power in the
leagues of Praes or Procer, but it'd always been influential -- and when
crossed, it was not above spending coin to make its displeasure known.

``Perhaps the honourable ambassador refers to the loans extended to the
Principate and its constituent principalities,'' the First Prince mildly
said. ``I am sure the unfortunate wording will be rectified, Queen
Catherine, if you give the ambassador opportunity to do so.''

I cocked a brow at the ambassador.

``We did not mean to imply that the Kingdom of Callow is indebted to the
Consortium, Your Majesty,'' Livia Murena lied. ``My apologies for the
misunderstanding.''

Barely refraining from rolling my eyes, I settled back into the seat.

``As was mentioned by our esteemed ambassador,'' the man at Livia's side
said, pouty red lips offering up a smile, ``the Consortium has learned
of the particulars of Proceran debt. Given the almost\ldots{} reckless
borrowing practices that were used, doubts have been raised as to the
capacity of the Principate of Procer to repay these debts.''

``Gods Below and Everburning,'' I said, tone openly contemptuous. ``You
really are going to insist on being the Tower's borrowed knife, aren't
you? No matter how many people warned me, I'd genuinely not believed
that the Consortium would make that glaring a blunder.''

``A hollow accusation,'' Ambassador Livia replied. ``And one thrown very
carelessly, I might add. There are limits to our tolerance, Queen
Catherine.''

\emph{Y}, Cordelia wrote. I changed course, snorting in feigned
amusement.

``You know what?'' I mused, ``Maybe you're right. I just \emph{assumed}
that you lot are going to try something as hilariously ill-advised as
attempting to coerce an alliance that commands more soldiers on a single
front than there are people in all of Mercantis. That was premature of
me. Go on, then. Speak.''

I thinly smiled.

``Prove me wrong,'' I said.

There was a beat of silence.

``We recognize the heroic contributions made by the Grand Alliance, and
Procer in particular, to the safety of all Calernia,'' Ambassador Livia
said. ``It is why we have been so willing to extend loans, and at rates
with little precedent. The Consortium will continue to support the war
effort however it can, rest assured that this is not in doubt.''

``That is most pleasing to hear,'' Cordelia mildly said. ``His Grace
Fabianus has reconsidered my request to expel the Praesi embassy,
then?''

I smothered a grin. She had them there, considering Malicia was the Dead
King's open -- if rather lethargic -- ally.

``The high court of the Consortium is debating such a measure, Your
Highness,'' Ambassador Livia smiled.

``Indeed,'' Cordelia Hasenbach smiled back, just as pleasantly, ``yet I
recall hearing the debate was to be set aside indefinitely. Has this
measure been revoked?''

``That is quite possible,'' the ambassador evaded. ``Given the length of
our journey here, our news are grown quite out of date.''

``You were leading up to a `but', Ambassador,'' I said. ``Do get on with
it, instead of insulting the intelligence of everyone in this room.''

``While the Consortium remains firmly behind the war effort,''
Ambassador Livia said, tone aggressively calm, ``given the financial
troubles of the Principate and its extensive amount of loans it has been
suggested that assurances must be sought. Else a collapse of Proceran
commerce could feasibly, in the coming years, bankrupt Mercantis
itself.''

``A reasonable worry,'' the fair-haired princess replied. ``I have
pondered this issue myself, as it happens. The Highest Assembly is
willing to sign a treaty guaranteeing a set portion of the taxes
collected by the office of First Prince until the debts are settled.
Would such an assurance be acceptable to you?''

Promising coin that had yet to be collected, huh. I supposed that was
one way to make up for lack of revenue. Mind you, if Cordelia's
eventually successor refused to pay up there honestly wasn't that much
that the Consortium would be able to do about it. \emph{Unless the
treaty is guaranteed by the Grand Alliance itself}, I thought, and
glanced at Hasenbach. Even the most firebrand of First Princes would
hesitate at antagonizing its two most powerful allies in such a way.
\emph{Canny woman}, I thought, not without fondness. It wasn't like
myself or the Dominion would refuse to be guarantors of this: it'd give
us some leverage over Procer after the war, which given how short-lived
Proceran gratitude tended to be would prove most welcome.

Somehow I doubted it was a coincidence that this arrangement would end
up soothing some of the lingering fears about Procer belonging to the
two nations Hasenbach wanted to keep as close allies. Circles within
circles within circles, with this one.

``It would go some way in abating worries, Your Most Serene Highness,''
Ambassador Livia replied, ``yet to invest more coin into the war, the
Consortium seeks more practical dividends.''

Ah, and there we were. Her eyes went to me but did not linger. She never
looked at me for long, I was beginning to notice. Even when she was
talking to me. The nightmares had left a mark, as they were meant to.

``It has come to the attention of Mercantis that plans are being drawn
for a city to be raised at the heart of the Red Flower Vales,'' the
diplomat with the pale brown eyes said. ``Cardinal, is it not?''

I drummed my fingers against the tabletop in open impatience.

``We recognize such a city for the opportunity it is,'' Ambassador Livia
said. ``And so in place of further loans, the Consortium seeks instead
to purchase monopolies on the trading of certain goods in Cardinal.''

I cocked my head to the side. Huh. That was cleverer than what I'd been
expecting, actually. They had to know that purchasing land ceded by
Callow and Procer was not a suggestion that'd go over well, but
monopolies over trade that did not yet exist was another story. By
putting up gold now they could get a stranglehold on certain kinds of
trade down the line, effectively pushing out any competition by being
the sole providers for long enough that people would grow used to
relying on them. It was their old role as middleman made anew, I thought
with a touch of admiration. The merchant lords were a greedy but they
were not without wits. This was actually halfway reasonable, as far as
demands went, which had me rather wary.

``And how long would these monopolies be expected to last?'' the First
Prince asked.

``Permanently,'' Ambassador Livia said. ``This would reflected in the
price offered for them, naturally.''

I did not need Cordelia's finger to trace the \emph{N} to know this was
not to be tolerated. So this was to be the pivot of this little
adventure. Now they would push, or be pushed.

``Mercantis,'' I said, enunciating the word slowly. ``The City of Bought
and Sold. The most impartial place there is to be had on Calernia, for
coin is queen and it claims no party.''

``A lovely compliment, Your Majesty,'' Ambassador Livia replied, smiling
like a shark.

``Spell it out,'' I said, learning forward. ``What happens, when I laugh
at this and tell you to crawl back to your island.''

I drew on Night. Slowly, quietly. The shadows of the room began to
lengthen, in the spaces between the glow of the mage lights and the
chandeliers.

``There is no need for such hostility,'' the diplomat said. ``We will
not withdraw our support for the war effort, as I have said. Yet it
would be difficult for the Consortium to consider extending further
loans when it would be courting its own bankruptcy.''

Which sounded all nice and reasonable, until you knew what we knew.
Hasenbach had told me that Malicia was almost certainly aware that
Procer needed the flow of gold from Mercantis to keep its head above the
water. Malicia had in turn told at least \emph{some} of these fine
fellows the piece of information. This had the Empress's touch all over
it, the more I saw the more it was obvious. As usual, Malicia had played
to all the angles. Merchants not in the know would not consider ending
loans to be enemy action, and if the Grand Alliance reacted harshly they
might turn to the Tower for protection against our perceived tyranny.
Merchants that were in the know, and there were bound to be a few, would
consider us to be deep enough in the hole that they could extract
concessions from us if they didn't push it too far. No doubt the Empress
had made promises of protection to encourage that perception, and leaked
information about where our armies were.

Very far from Mercantis, the bottom line was.

``I'm curious,'' I said. ``You must believe -- I can't understand this,
otherwise -- that you have the upper hand here. And I have to ask, Gods,
I really have to ask-''

The Night deepened, the light dimmed.

``\emph{Why?}'' I coldly asked. ``Why is that you think that, exactly?
Explain it to me.''

``No threat has been made, Queen Catherine,'' the ambassador said.
``Your behaviour is-''

``Let me tell you what happens,'' I softly interrupted, ``if you choose
to become my enemy.''

I met Livia Murena's eyes. Darkness deepened around us, and came a faint
sound like the dying whisper of a scream.

``I will not be civilized,'' I gently told her. ``I will not keep to
laws and treaties, to decency or the milk of human kindness. If you
become the tool of a woman who has allied herself with the King of
Death, if you \emph{willingly} make that choice, then I will visit a
ruin on you that will still haunt the sleep of men in a hundred years.''

She looked away, towards the First Prince.

``Your Highness-''

``Don't look at her,'' I said. ``It won't help. She can't stop me, and
she doesn't particularly want to.''

The ambassador's pudgy fingers tightened around her chain of office and
she turned back to me, gathering her courage, but my hands had slipped
in the pocket where I had stowed away my last surprise.

``Do you believe in fate, Ambassador Livia?'' I asked.

She did not answer, eyes fixed on the golden coin in my hand. There were
crossed swords on the side that could be seen. The other woman's
breathing went uneven, her hands trembled, and still I waited. Sweat
drenched the back of her neck, smudged the cosmetics on her face, and in
her eyes I saw reaped the terror that I had sown.

``Yes,'' Livia Murena hoarsely answered. ``Yes, I do.''

``Then let us keep to laws and treaties,'' I said, my smile never
reaching my eyes. ``To decency and the milk of human kindness.''

\emph{Or else}, I did not say. She heard it anyway.

I did not speak another word for the rest of the meeting, or need to.
