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the door to their pounding. 'You did well.
Tell your father. No one else'
He hoped that was clear enough. Saw the Bassanid coming to stand behind the
steward, lifted one hand briefly in apologetic greeting.
It occurred to him that if Plautus Bonosus had been in this house tonight
instead of the eastern doctor, none of this would have happened. Then he did,
in fact, lose consciousness.
She is awake, in her room with the golden rose that was made for her long ago.
Knows he will come to her tonight. Is looking at the rose, in fact, and
thinking about frailty when she hears the door open, the familiar tread, the
voice that is always with her.
'You are angry with me, I know.'
She shakes her head. 'Afraid of what will come, a little. Not angry, my lord.'
She pours his wine, waters it. Crosses to the seat he has taken by the fire.
He takes the wine, and her hand, kisses the palm. His manner is quiet, easy,
but she knows him better than she knows anyone alive and can read the signs of
his excitement.
'It was finally useful, 'she says, 'to have the queen watched all this time.'
He nods. 'She's clever, isn't she? Knew we weren't surprised.'
'I saw that. Will she be difficult, do you think?'
He looks up, smiles. 'Probably.'
The implication being, of course, that it doesn't really matter. He knows what
he wants to do, and to have others do. None of them will learn all the
details, not even his Empress. Certainly not Leontes, who will lead the army
of conquest. She wonders, suddenly, how many men her husband will send, and a
thought crosses her mind. She dismisses it, then it slips back in: Valerius
is, in fact, more than subtle enough to be careful, even with his trusted
friends.
She does not tell him that she, too, had a warning that the Strategos was
bringing Gisel to the palace today. Alixana believes, privately, that her
husband does know she's watching Leontes and his wife and has done so for some
time, but it is one of the things they do not discuss. One of the ways in
which theirs is a partnership.
Most of the time.
The signs have long been present-no one will be able to claim to have been
taken entirely by surprise-but without warning or consultation, the Emperor
has just declared an intention to go to war this spring.
They have been at war for much of his reign, to the east, north, south-east,
far off in the Majriti deserts. This is different. This is Batiara. Rhodias.
Heartland of the Empire. Sundered, then lost beyond a wide sea.
'You are sure of this?' she asks him.
He shakes his head. 'Sure of the consequences? Of course not. No mortal can
claim to know the unknown that might come,' her husband says softly, still
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holding her hand. 'We live with that uncertainty.' He looks at her. 'You are
angry with me. For not telling you.'
She shakes her head again. 'How could I be?' she asks, meaning what she says.
'You have always wanted this, I have always said I did not think it could be
done. You see it differently, and are wiser than any of us.'
He looks up, the grey eyes mild. 'I make mistakes, love. This might be one.
But I need to try, and this is the time to do it, with
Bassania bribed to be quiet, and chaos in the west, and the young queen here
with us. It makes too much ... sense.'
His mind works that way. In part.
In part. She draws a breath, and murmurs, 'Would you still need to do this if
we had a son?'
Her heart is pounding. That almost never happens any more. She watches him.
Sees the startled reaction, then what replaces it: his mind engaging,
addressing, not flinching away.
After a long time, he says, 'That is an unexpected question.'
'I know,' she says. 'It came to me while I was waiting here for you.' Not
entirely true. It came to her first a long time ago.
He says, 'You think, if we did, that because of the risk ... ?'
She nods. 'If you had an heir. Someone you were leaving this to.' She does not
gesture. There is more than any gesture could compass. This.
An empire. A legacy of centuries.
He sighs. Has still not released her hand. Says, softly, looking into the fire
now, 'Maybe so, love. I don't know.'
An admission. For him to say that much. No sons, no one to come after, to take
the throne, light the candles on the anniversary of their deaths. There is an
old pain in her.
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