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\hypertarget{chapter-87-connive}{%
\chapter{Connive}\label{chapter-87-connive}}



\epigraph{``An enemy will remember you long after your dearest friends
forget your face. Consider this, when you choose yours.''}{Argea Theodosian, Sacker of Cities, Tyrant of Helike}



Under the moon's light the outskirts of Salia were still a pale field of
snow, but I almost started in surprise at the warmth of the breeze.
Winter was dying, at last. At my right, Archer nonchalantly strolled
forward as she strung her overlarge bow. I spared a moment to admire the
deftness of her fingers as she did, and the strength of the arms hidden
by mail and coat. At my left it was Akua Sahelian that tread the snow
without leaving footsteps, so ethereally graceful she might as well have
been gliding. Under the guise of Advisor Kivule she wore long black
veils hiding her face, though the splendid black velour ballroom dress
she'd decided to wear for out little walk provided insisted reminders
she was one of the most attractive people I'd ever seen.

``It's called a Segovian cut,'' Indrani idly provided.

I tore away my gaze from the small slits in the dress' skirts that'd
allowed glimpse of the smooth legs beneath. I did not reply, knowing
from long experience that if I engaged it would be the verbal equivalent
of leaping headfirst into quicksand. Akua had several veils over her
face, and yet somehow I could still feel her smirking.

``They wear those for dances they have, where the women spin and-''

``We'll need to pass by my rooms so I can take my cloak,'' I
interrupted, pretending I had no interest in her finishing that story.

Segovian cut, was it? I'd have someone look into that, there might be
one that'd fit Indrani lying around Salia. Although, I couldn't ask it
of Adjutant. That would be\ldots{} uh. No, definitely not Hakram. And
Hells, now that I thought about it, if I sent for anything like there'd
be a report about it on the desk of the First Prince, the Empress and
Gods forbid maybe even my father before the day was out. That made the
whole notion a lot less enticing, although there might be other ways.
Still, if it ended up that I had to call on the smugglers among the
Jacks to get Indrani into a revealing dress without half the crowns on
Calernia knowing of it I was going to find a tall cliff to leap down it.
Even as Archer continued to heckle me I began to hobble towards my
quarters, but quiet undercurrents in the Night warned me company was
coming.

My Lord of Silent Steps emerged of the darkness between two crowded
houses, the purple and silver paint of the Losara Sigil so intrinsically
part of Ivah nowadays that I could hardly recall what it looked like
without. Ivah's presence was ever welcome, and once more it was bringing
to me what I required before I even thought to ask. Arm extended, it
offered me the Cloak of Woe.

``Losara Queen,'' it greeted me.

``Lord Ivah,'' I replied. ``My thanks.''

I wrapped it around me, fingers rising to fasten the broach binding it
closed under my throat, and the familiar weight of old mistakes and
victories on my back was a reassuring thing. My hand had been filled by
a sword, once. First of goblin steel, then of ice and shade, and after
that of obsidian only once unsheathed. The dead yew staff that felt cool
against my palm, somehow fitting it perfectly, was still a fresh choice:
not one I had not fully embraced, for the consequences of it were not
all known. The mantle on my back, though? It was like an old friend, and
even just wearing it made me feel sharper in thought and deed.

``Should I rouse the Mighty to war, First Under the Night?'' Ivah asked.
``Steel-clad soldiers march on your camp.''

``No,'' I easily replied. ``It will not come to that. The Mighty will
have may wars to wage, in the coming nights. This need not be one of
them.''

Or even a war at all, if I could finagle that. I wasn't sure why the
League of Free Cities would choose to lash out against me of all the
rulers in Salia -- even if Malicia was the one pulling the strings, it
hardly seemed a winning venture for her -- but I had no intention of
allowing what was coming to develop into yet another front for Callow to
fight a war on. I did not invite Ivah to accompany us out in the snows,
and it did not presume to invite itself. The League's people were much
further out than we were, since they'd left long before I even began to
set out, but as I reached for the Night and let it empower my sight I
saw they were hardly a single unified band. Out of the four thousand
soldiers that the League of Free Cities had been allowed to bring, maybe
two thousand were on the march. One thousand yet remained in their camp,
across the distant field, and the rest was marching \emph{away}. South,
although they were split into two groups and one must have left recently
to still be so close to the League's town-camp.

``Archer,'' I said. ``You followed their movements from the start,
yes?''

``You're wondering about the stagger,'' she said, sounding amused.

``The two packs of deserters, yeah,'' I frowned. ``If the second wave
was deserters who hesitated I'd not think of it twice, but they're
moving in an orderly manner. Ranks, supply wagons.''

``First group to walk out was Atalante,'' Indrani told me. ``Packed up
their affairs, assembled their soldiers and diplomats and left without
looking back.''

Which was not entirely surprising, I thought. Atalante had no real
allies in the League, at the moment. It'd been at odds with Delos before
the Tyrant upended the apple cart and started a round of civil war, and
from what I understood the closest city it'd had to an ally, Penthes,
had only been interested in using the chaos to grab some of the eastern
Delosi holdings. Now that there was no Hierarch to compel the city to
war against the Grand Alliance, they were likely to head home to lick
their wounds instead of linger on foreign fields. If I had to guess, I'd
put coin on the second band being the Bellerophon soldiery, and the
old-fashioned tight formations I could glimpse in the distance held up
to that perspective. It made no sense they'd waited for so long to
leave, though.

``What happened with the Bellerophon delegation?'' I asked.

``Mind you, I only saw from a distance,'' Indrani cautioned.

``You can put an arrow in a wasp from a mile away, Indrani,'' Akua
amusedly said.

``Sure, but I could exactly hear what they were saying,'' Archer
reminded us. ``Still, as far as I could tell the \emph{kanenas} tried to
execute the general.''

I saw no point in asking why, given that Bellerophon's laws had been
written not even by a single raving lunatic but by a whole assembly of
them, many of them violently opposed to each other in their ravings but
every single one rabidly incensed by even the hint of foreign meddling
in their common lunatic affairs. For all I knew, they'd wanted to
executed him because he'd combed his hair the wrong way on the third day
of the month. \emph{Tried}, though, was something worth asking about.

``They defied the authority of their mage-inquisitor?'' I said. ``I'd
never heard about one of them doing that before.''

``The kanenas dropped dead all of a sudden,'' Archer replied, shaking
her head. ``And then they spent a while arguing about that.''

I shiver went up my spine, and against my will I glanced up at the night
sky. At what might lay behind it, waiting. What had become of the
Hierarch was not yet clear, I thought, but surely all that he was must
be tied up in his struggle against Judgement? The mere notion of
Anaxares the Diplomat having become some sort of watchful angel to the
Republic of Bellerophon was enough to make me sick in the stomach. I
shook my head and focused anew.

``That doesn't explain why they're so far beyond Atalante,'' I finally
said. ``Unless they argue for nearly ten hours.''

``Funny story,'' Indrani grinned, mouth half-hidden by her scarf, ``they
actually headed north first. Then they saw a road marker that said they
were headed towards Salia and argued for an hour before turning south.''

``And what's so funny about that?'' I said, brow rising.

It was incompetence, but honestly a fairly mild one in nature. It wasn't
unheard of for professional armies to need to catch their bearings, that
this particular half-trained mob would have to as well wasn't anything
unusual. Especially since we'd all come here through the Twilight Ways,
which would be highly disorienting for those unfamiliar with Arcadian
journeys. An embarrassing mistake, maybe, but nothing worth a grin.

``Well, the general,'' Indrani said. ``You know, the one that didn't
die? I think he must have been the one who chose the directions,
because-''

``They executed him,'' I sighed.

She chuckled at that, and to my utter lack of surprise even Akua's body
language hinted a smile under the veils. Yeah, well, between Wolof's
golden child and the favourite pupil of the Lady of the Lake I supposed
the general sense of humour for this company tended towards the dark.

``Bellerophon and Atalante flee the field, then,'' Akua calmly said.
``We face numbers diminished and disunited. Who was it that lingered in
the League's lodgings?''

``The people in the camp are mostly Mercantis mercenaries and the
Delosi,'' Indrani said. ``Everyone else is headed here, but not
together.''

``Should I guess?'' I grunted. ``Stygia and Penthes together. Nicae will
have made room for a few members of the Secretariat with their own
people, their Basileus needs all the friends he can make right now.
Helike will come alone.''

``Penthes came with Nicae,'' Archer corrected, ``though you're right
about the Secretariat. Stygia and Helike march without allies, even each
other.''

I worried my lip.

``Penthes is Malicia's hook in the League,'' I said. ``And Malicia just
broke Nicae's naval power in a single stroke, so why is Basileus Leo
Trakas tolerating them at his side?''

``There were only two cities among the League that might feasibly be
able to scry on par with \emph{Procer}, much less Callow or Praes,''
Akua pointed out. ``Stygia and Helike, and even the latter held true
mostly on the back of the many deals made by Kairos Theodosian. Neither
of these have an interest in passing such news along to Leo Trakas.''

``Hakram assessed he still didn't know during the conference, but even
\emph{now}?'' I frowned.

It'd been at least two days since the disaster, by my reckoning.

``Dearest heart,'' Akua said, sounding amused, ``not all realms are so
blessed as yours, to have inherited the scrying rituals of Praes and
then been graced with the work of one of the most brilliant
practitioners in living memory, the Observatory of Laure. Though your
nets are not as wide and your spies nowhere as deeply planted as the
Empire's, Callowan long-distance scrying is likely the most swift and
reliable on the continent.''

I grimaced as I considered that. It was true that even when I'd begun as
the Squire I'd had access to the reports and assessments of the Eyes of
the Empire as well as Legion scrying, and then spent near every campaign
that followed with \emph{Masego} at hand. My standards for the swiftness
information was transmitted at were probably askew from most people's,
as Akua was so gently implying. Besides, scrying was largely
Trismegistan as far as rituals went -- though the Principate's Order of
the Red Lion used a formula Masego had noted as being raw, `primitive'
and influenced by Jaquinite methods -- and the Free Cities weren't
exactly practitioners of that. There were some local magics, from what I
remembered reading, but no dominant school or unified tradition. The
Stygian Magisterium were the finest sorcerers in the region, but they
weren't sharing their secrets and it was a point of pride for them
they'd been practicing sorcery for longer than the Praesi. Which the
Praesi denied, of course, but that sort of historical pride pissing
match tended to continue because no one could really be sure either way.

``All right,'' I said. ``So Basileus Leo sees the League is falling
apart. Stygia's the traditional rival of his city among the League as
well unpalatable for the slavery besides, and Helike's the power he's
trying to dislodge from the place of first among equals. Everyone knew
Bellerophon couldn't be kept in the fold from the start, I'm guessing,
so doubtless they didn't even try.''

``That Atalante walked away implies he is failing to consolidate the
League,'' Akua noted. ``He would have attempted to keep the preachers
from walking, if only for their coffers and healers.''

Indrani laughed.

``So in Leo's hour of need, his buddies from Penthes come to offer
support,'' she said. ``And he's got no idea's that Malicia's hand is up
the ass of the Exarchs, moving the lips so they'll say all the right
things.''

Colourfully put, but not inaccurate.

``You think she wants to prop up Leo Trakas and make a puppet of him?''
I guessed. ``I don't see how it can hold all that long. As soon as he
hears about Still Water being used on his fleets, he turns on them in
fury. He \emph{has} to, his own people will stone him in the streets if
he doesn't.''

``Agreed,'' Akua said. ``I would wager his usefulness is purely
temporary, and the man himself disposable.''

``Yeah, Sahelian's got that one pegged. He's an arrow loosed, not a
lasting catspaw,'' Indrani said. ``Ain't like the Tower's ever been shy
about using people and then tossing them away.''

``We are in agreement this is a ploy of the Empress, then?'' I said.

``It seems likely,'' Akua agreed.

``We'd already be hip-deep in corpses if this was the Dead King's
work,'' Archer frankly replied.

``Good,'' I grunted, eyes fixed on the shapes approaching in the
distance. ``Then we tread carefully. I'm not willing to hand her yet
another fucking victory tonight.''

We slowed and stopped without ever needing to speak a word, my limp
carrying me atop a slight hill on the plains and the two of them coming
to stand by my side as we waited for the League to walk the last stretch
separating us. We could have met them halfway and gotten to speaking
more quickly, but that would have been sending the wrong message: it was
them coming to me, not us meeting as equals. The Tyrant had not made
granted the same quantity of soldiers to all members of the League when
making the delegation, that much was made clear by those advancing
towards us. The two Exarch-claimants of Penthes had maybe three hundred
foot with them, with the looks of professional soldiers about them: long
mail shirts of good quality, crested helms with full cheek guards and
oval shields. Their spears were unlike the long beasts the Stygians used
in their phalanx, only about the height of a man, and they bore not
swords but long-shafted axes at their hips.

The forces of Nicae, themselves numbering closer to five hundred, steady
sword and board men in chainmail and cuirasses though they used small
round steel shields and straight-edged sabers instead what I'd equip a
shield wall in in their place. They had about a hundred riders as well,
though it was only light horse. Long lances and javelins as well as what
looked like armour of leather and \emph{cloth} had me almost rolling my
eyes. Aside from riding down conscripts, I hardly saw what good that
kind of cavalry could ever do in a proper battle. They'd shatter under
Legion crossbows in a hurry, and Gods wouldn't that be a horrible waste
of good warhorses? The Stygians had brought a mere two hundred, their
Spears of Stygian with their long spears raised high advancing at brisk
pace as the few mounted people ahead I assumed to be magisters keeping
an eye on the slave-soldiers. Kairos Theodosian had not been a man
afraid to stack the deck in his favour, so it was the Helikean force of
nearly nine hundred that was by far the largest of the approaching
contingents.

Men-at-arms with their scale armour and sharp blades, the steady foot
that was the foundation of Helikean warfare, counted six hundred. They
moved in formation and good order. The last three hundred, however, were
a sight that half-surprised me: \emph{kataphraktoi}. I'd confiscated the
equipment of the four thousand cataphracts that'd warred on my army in
Iserre and sent them back to Kairos with a broken finger each, but it
seemed at least part of that force had been raised anew. The broken
finger I'd not expected to keep them down for too long, not with so many
priests among the League army, but the horses and armaments were
surprise. Mind you, I was looking at three hundred when my soldiers had
once fought four \emph{thousand}. I doubted even the deeper schemer like
the Tyrant had anticipated needing to rearm all four thousand of the
most elite force in his army. The last presence from the League was the
Delosi Secretariat, and it evidently had not brought soldiers at all. A
handful of \emph{askretis} were walking with Nicaeans, carrying small
scribing desks for what I assumed to be a senior member of the
Secretariat.

``This is pretty nostalgic,'' Archer said, silver flask in hand. ``The
three of us, more enemies than we practically know what to do with.''

``They're not necessarily enemies,'' I said.

``Cat insisting we're not necessarily going to kill them,'' Archer
airily continued. ``All we need is caves full of corpses and it'll be
like we never left the Everdark.''

``Any moment now, we'll declare war on an entire civilization,'' Akua
suggested.

``We did pretty well last time,'' Indrani mused. ``I'd say we rank at
least a draw, don't you?''

She passed the flask to the shade, who drank a deep sip.

``Generous, that,'' Akua said afterwards. ``Although, for an invasion
force three women strong I'll concede there was a surprising amount of
invading achieved.''

``I need a better quality of minions,'' I complained. ``Mine are too
mouthy. I bet the White Knight never has to deal with anything like
this.''

Heroes must be all sweetness and light, to the Sword of Judgement. All I
got were crows that got mouthy about giving me directions and underlings
who couldn't ever let anything go. Akua handed me the flask and I took a
sip myself -- then spat it out, coughing.

``Indrani, you horrid wench,'' I gasped out. ``This is senna.''

Drow liquor, made from mushrooms and tasting like godsdamned mud. It'd
been tolerable underground, where there was little else even remotely
drinkable, but up here? After months of wine? It was like licking a
muddy lake shore.

``You slipped me a flask when I left before the Graveyard,'' Indrani
beatifically smiled. ``How does the saying go again? For small slights,
long prices. Wench.''

I glanced at Akua who had brazenly betrayed me by pretending this was
halfway decent liquor when she'd drunk of it herself, and she languidly
shrugged.

``How could I stand in the way of righteous revenge, my heart?'' the
shade said. ``It would have been most uncharitable of me.''

``This is why Hakram is my favourite,'' I muttered under my breath.

At the very least, the indignation had me less tense as the soldiers
approached.

``And now,'' Indrani narrated, ``as foes stream forward like a mighty
river, atop the hill stand a peerless beauty, a regal queen, a
mysterious seductress -- and also you two, I guess.''

I could not flip off Archer in front of the League, I reminded myself.
No matter how much she deserved it. Indrani shifted slightly to the
side, eyes narrowing, and her tone went serious without warning.

``Mages with the Basileus,'' she warned. ``At least three.''

I followed her gaze and found Leo Trakas atop his white stallion, as
well as the two Exarch-claimants, but the mages took me a while longer
to figure out. Some of Basileus Leo's escorting horseman wore
ill-fitting armour, I realized. The sleeves were too long, as if made
for larger and taller men, and they seemed uncomfortable with the
weapons they were carrying.

``You sure?'' I quietly said.

``Their horses move like they've been drugged,'' Archer murmured.
``Those are war horses, willful, and they're not good riders. Either
those mounts were spelled to be docile, or they were fed something.''

``Akua?'' I said.

``Enchanted,'' she said. ``Though sloppily. I'd wager they are either
Nicaean mages -- no great wonders, those -- or hired practitioners from
Mercantis.''

``Lovely,'' I growled.

If Leos Trakas had tight reins on his `allies' I'd call this a
precaution and let it go, but given that Penthes was likely playing him
at Malicia's behalf there were risks involved. The larger party,
consisting of the Penthesians, Nicaeans and the Secretariat observers,
halted its march maybe a hundred feet ahead of our hill. A smaller party
advanced, though it wasn't that small: the Exarchs brought thirty men,
Leo Trakas thirty men of his own -- including the mages, now dismounted
-- and with four scribes and the Secretariat official it was sixty eight
people who strode towards the three of us. In the distance, the forces
of Helike and Stygia halted on either side of the large force. Two
riders peeled out of the band for Helike, one for Stygia. Bundled up in
furs, Basileus Leo was at the head of the delegation and it was him that
addressed us first.

``Hail, Black Queen,'' the young man said.

``Hail, Basileus,'' I calmly replied. ``Your visit is an unexpected
pleasure.''

``Is it a visit to walk Proceran soil, now?'' one of the Exarchs mocked.
``How quickly your dominion extends, Queen of Callow.''

I glanced at Akua.

``Advisor,'' I said. ``Do remind me -- is that one Prodocius or
Honorion?''

``Prodocius, my queen,'' Akua replied.

I glanced at the dark-haired man, his cheeks gone red from anger as much
as the cold, and my eyebrows rose.

``Did you know that the Eyes of the Empire have you officially marked as
`having the wits of a well-bred trout'?'' I asked.

The man snarled.

``You coat your insults in lies, you-''

``I assure you,'' I amicably smiled, ``it is a verbatim quote.''

``Prodocius,'' Basileus Leo sharply said. ``We did not come to trade
barbs.''

``That is pleasing to know,'' I said.

``So why did you come?'' Archer drawled. ``I'm assuming it's not to
visit the nice Proceran countryside. Snow's not measurably any nice
close to our camp.''

Knowing her, she might actually have checked.

``Accusations were made against you, Queen Catherine,'' an old man spoke
in lightly accented Lower Miezan.

Long hair white as snow and bound in a ponytail, the man who'd spoken
was wrinkled like old leather and nearly as dark of skin. This was, if I
remembered my briefings correctly, Nestor Ikaroi of the Secretariat. On
each of his cheeks could be found a blue stripe and a black one,
tattooed. The marks of someone who had climbed the ranks of their
bureaucracy until there was nothing left to climb.

``Secretary Ikaroi, isn't it?'' I said.

The old man, to my surprise, gallantly bowed.

``It is a great pleasure to formally meet you, Your Majesty,'' he said.

``And I you,'' I replied, dipping my head in thanks. ``I've long had an
interest in the ways of the Secretariat.''

Which was true enough, since back in the first days of my reign I'd been
desperate to find a working bureaucratic model that wasn't an imitation
of the Praesi one. There'd never really be time or resources to spend on
a venture in the Free Cities though, not with Procer mobilizing.

``Then perhaps in the days to come you might be willing to speak with
formal chroniclers,'' Nestor Ikaroi offered. ``We have a troubling lack
of direct sources concerning the beginning of the Uncivil Wars.''

I blinked, taken aback at the continued civility. Usually people were
only this polite after they'd lost a few battles or I'd put a blade at
their neck.

``Time allowing, I've not objection,'' I slowly said. ``The Marshal of
Callow is already writing a history of her own, and I would not object
to your speaking with her either.''

``It pleases us all you are willing to interact peacefully with the
League, Your Majesty,'' Basileus Leo said, reclaiming the lead on the
League side. ``Yet it would benefit us all if you would answer the
accusations that were posed.''

``It is interesting that the Basileus of Nicae considers himself to have
authority over the Queen of Callow,'' Akua mildly said. ``I wonder which
precedent is so in use.''

The younger man looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.

``Should I take this as refusal to speak with the League?'' he asked me.

``Do you speak for the League now?'' Indrani drily said. ``You seem to
be missing parts, `Hierarch'.''

I raised a hand.

``We have further guests, Archer,'' I said. ``Let us not jump to hasty
conclusions.''

The riders from Helike and Stygia had finally arrived. The Stygian was
no surprise: Magister Zoe Ixiani had been the voice of the Magisterium
through the League civil war and the Proceran campaign, and it seemed
she was still to be the same tonight. The fact that she was a slaver
rather spoiled her good looks, sadly. As for the two Helikeans, I was
familiar with both. General Basilia, who had I once met in Rochelant and
later learned was the Tyrant's favourite general, rode well and high in
the saddle. Dark-eyed and dark-haired, she had sharp cheekbones and the
well-built shoulders of a warrior. The other I knew almost intimately:
the pale eyes straddling the line of blue and grey, the surprisingly
young tanned face I had once seen kneeling before me. General Pallas,
who had led the \emph{kataphractoi} who killed my men.

``Generals,'' I said. ``Magister Ixioni.''

The two commanders offered brisk salutes.

``Magister Zoe would suffice,'' the sorceress smiled.

I did not smile back and flicked a glance at the Helikeans.

``Quite the gathering,'' I said. ``Dare I ask why?''

``We are here as observers,'' General Basilia said.

``You are here as an usurper, \emph{general},'' the other
Exarch-claimant said.

That one wasn't Prodocius, which made him Honorion. Plump where the
other was thin, he was middle-aged and his curly hair luxuriant. From
what Black had told me, he was prodigiously wealthy and had no
particular talent aside form this. Considering a great source of wealth
for Penthes was trade with the Empire, I'd wager he was even more
Malicia's creature than the other one.

``I will uphold the last will of the Tyrant of Helike, Penthesian
swine,'' General Basilia coldly said. ``Steel in hand, if I must.''

I was detecting the slightest hint of tension there.

``Accusations, you said,'' I mused. ``Am I to hear them, or will they
remain a mystery?''

``Are you willing to submit to the judgement of the League?'' Basileus
Leo eagerly said.

I met his eyes, unamused.

``Look at my back, Leo Trakas,'' I said. ``What do you see there?''

The young man's lips thinned.

``The Mantle of Woe, it is called,'' he said.

``It's a list of people who asked me to \emph{submit} to things,'' I
said. ``I would not be so eager to be number among them, were I you.''

``Then we are at an impasse,'' Basileus Leo said.

``Secretary Nestor,'' Akua said. ``What does the record indicate the
accusations are?''

Leo Trakas paled, either in anger or fear.

``Claimant to the title of Exarch Prodocius Lesor alleges that Queen
Catherine Foundling murdered the Tyrant of Helike,'' Nestor Ikaroi
calmly said. ``Claimant to the title of Exarch Honorion Kapenos alleges
that Queen Catherine Foundling was accessory to the murder of Anaxares
of Bellerophon, Hierarch of the Free Cities.''

A heartbeat of silence passed, then Archer burst out laughing. It was
not, I decided, the most diplomatic we'd ever been. I glanced at the
Helikean generals, who seemed untroubled.

``And what does Helike say of this?'' I asked.

``We cast no such accusation,'' General Pallas bluntly said.

``Our sire would have disdained such a measure, even were the accusation
true,'' General Basilia added with open contempt.

I glanced at Basileus Leo, wondering in what possible world he might
have thought that my `submission' to `League judgement' might have
resulted in anything the wholesale slaughter of everyone trying to
execute me on such thin pretence. Gods Below, I'd sent running larger
forces than the entire League escort, much less his little coalition.
No, he was young but he wasn't an idiot -- he wouldn't have been able to
prevent a Strategos from being chosen in Nicae if that were the case.
Ah. Had he been presenting himself as the speaker for the League so that
he could then declare me innocent in that capacity, avoiding a fight
with me while binding Penthes to him? On parchment that was a halfway
decent plan, but he had to realize I had no damned incentive to indulge
him and the precedent of the League having authority over a Queen of
Callow was unacceptable. \emph{If he is not stupid, which I know him not
to be}, I thought, \emph{then he must be desperate.}

``Gods, do you have a semblance of evidence at least?'' I asked. ``Tell
me you didn't march near two thousand soldiers for\ldots{}
\emph{this}.''

The Basileus flushed and gestured towards his attendants. Archer, I saw,
was carefully watching the mages. Good. One of the soldiers came forward
with two sheaths of parchment, but Exarch Prodocius sneered and elbowed
him, snatching the scrolls. He strolled up the hill, staring me down
with surprising aplomb for a man who as far as I could tell had no power
and no military training -- he wasn't even in particularly good shape.
Except, I realized as he approached, he \emph{wasn't} staring me down.
His eyes were wide and showing white, like a terrified horse's. He was,
I grasped as he hurried towards me, frightened nearly out of his wits.
And still he threw the parchments towards my face. Akua slapped them
down, even as Exarch Prodocius stepped up to me with a rictus of bared
teeth that straddled fury and terror.

``There,'' Prodocius snarled, ``you murdering tyrant, you-''

At the Basileus' barked order two Nicaean soldiers stepped forward, one
grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him back and the other
offering me an apologetic bow before picking up the parchments -- they'd
fallen short, as open scrolls were want to do -- and bowed again before
pressing them into my hand.

Or at least tried to, before Archer caught his wrist and rammed a blade
through the side of his neck.