After the Dragon

by Wendy Palmer

Lithia was unaware. Trick watched her as they sat down to lunch, freshly washed and dressed, as she fussed over the daughter, Jollette, and was unbearably kind to Crethen.

  'Idiot,’ said Filipe, angry but to himself.

  'Would she believe you if you told her?’ asked Trick.

  'She likes to believe the best of people.’ Filipe rubbed the heel of his hands across his eyes. ‘She would need evidence to think otherwise.'

  'The man he sent is here somewhere,’ said Trick.

  'You saw him?’ Filipe sat up.

  Lithia leant forward. ‘What are you all muttering about in Bourchian down there?'

  'Coronation gift,’ said Trick. ‘You don't want to ruin your surprise, do you?'

  Lithia looked around at their faces, tense and wanting to look away from her. Only Faustus sat staring straight ahead, uncaring. She turned back to Crethen.

  'Does it have to be real evidence?’ said Trick. ‘Because we can get Mouse to do an Illusion and tell Lithia it's an image of what really happened.'

  'This will result in Crethen's death,’ said Filipe. ‘Let's not give her something else to feel guilty about later.’ Dalton, dead for Lithia's sake and his own short temper, sat behind his words.

  Mouse shook his head anyway.

  'A ten-year-old boy has more morality than you, cousin,’ Faustus said.

  'He'll learn,’ Trick replied. So Faustus was paying attention, enough to have a dig at him. Perhaps he was coming out of his long stupor now that Mizzle sat beside him again and Jarrett stayed away.

  Mizzle looked from Lithia to Filipe. ‘Would he be a bad consort?'

  Filipe shrugged. ‘He killed one wife, how long before he kills another?'

  'He might not harm her,’ Trick said, ‘if he is not made heir—but he disagrees with her policies.'

  'He would be unpleasant to live with and undermine her authority,’ said Mizzle.

  'Yes,’ Trick said. Jarrett had taught her something about humans, then. ‘And he is hungry.'

  'Plainly,’ said Filipe.

  Crethen's raised voice broke in on them in Livanian. ‘That is foolishness, Empress. It is foolishness.'

  Filipe went grim. ‘Crethen, there is a problem?'

  Faustus nudged Trick and he muttered a quick translation. He suspected his cousin asked only for Mizzle's benefit. But her grasp of Livanian had to be even better than it had been after days spent with fluent Jarrett.

  'I wish to send an overture of peace to King Fillip,’ said Lithia, her hands flat to the table.

  Crethen turned to his daughter and sent her away with a gesture. She went, head bowed.

  'This is not a grieving husband,’ said Mizzle.

  'He will take it as a weakness,’ said Crethen, ignoring the interruption in a language he did not understand.

  Filipe let his gaze drift from Crethen to Lithia. ‘What do you think to achieve, Empress?'

  'Peace,’ she said. ‘He can't want war. He can have the land back if he signs a non-aggression treaty.'

  Crethen owned that land Livania had won from Bourchia. He went red in the face. ‘A treaty which he will assume you do not have the courage to enforce and will break it as soon as you turn your back.'

  Filipe ignored him. ‘Lithia,’ he said. ‘King Fillip must win that land back to get the treasury open. His uncle didn't want him to buy it back or negotiate for it. It must be won on a battlefield.'

  Mizzle nudged Trick this time.

  He told her of the spell on the door of the treasury.

  She listened closely and sat back as he finished, frowning.

  'That is not a human magic.’ The hint of a question flavoured her voice.

  'Yes, a DarkElf did it,’ said Filipe, diverted from Lithia.'Could you break it?'

  'No,’ she said, still with the tiny line creasing her forehead. ‘Not even the caster could break it now. Only fulfilling the condition of the spell will open your treasury.'

  'Not my treasury,’ said Filipe.

  'Will the spell know,’ Lithia asked, ‘if we deliberately arrange it so I lose and Fillip wins with no bloodshed?'

  'Weakness,’ said Crethen, suddenly shoving to his feet. ‘Mikcul would never have dealt with the Bourchian dog.'

  'I am not Mikcul,’ said Lithia. ‘I will not be Mikcul.'

  'Then you are as weak as your cousin and deserve to be deposed as he was.’ Crethen turned on his heel and walked out.

  'That was treason,’ said Filipe. ‘Arrest him.'

  It was too much to hope for. ‘His wife's death has naturally upset him. He'll come round,’ said Lithia. ‘I'm ready to go on to the palace now.'

  * * * *

  The sky was grey and threatening but the rain held off. Lithia gathered her soldiers around her and had her banner unfurled. They went out at a sharp trot, the carriage rattling behind them. Mizzle had not gone back to the carriage, so Trick ceded her Skye and went back to sharing Bet with Mouse.

  He had thought the streets busy before, but now the volume of people had swelled with the rumour the Imperial army had spread. As soon as the crowd saw the banner they stopped in the street and cheered, and the noise rippled in a great wave leading them up the broad avenue to the palace. The main square was already lined with people. The din from thousands of throats sent the horses skittering and made Mizzle wince. Trick wondered why she had not gone back to the carriage.

  Lithia rode under her banner, smiling and waving. Trick had never doubted the people's need for someone other than Mikcul. Lithia's immediate danger lay in the southern lords, some of whom had to be in the palace they rode to. That was what made Crethen such a danger—he and his army would be needed if the other lords proved intransigent.

  For now, Lithia smiled and Crethen smiled, their argument silent between them. Had he already made clear what he expected his reward to be—even though he was a recent widower with a daughter not that much younger than Lithia?

  The palace rose up before them, set on an upthrusting crest of rock behind high walls, dwarfing the rest of the city and drawing the eye. At the very top of the central spire, Lithia's banner already flapped, the sword and crescent moon bright silver and blue against the grey sky.

  'Good sign,’ said Filipe quietly.

  The gates stood open for them. Soldiers of the Imperial army saluted Lithia as they rode through.

  'We have four southern lords,’ said Filipe to Lithia. ‘At least two should be here.'

  But three richly dressed men and one gloriously adorned woman waited on the steps of the palace, surrounded by servants and clerks. Property and titles passed to the oldest child in Livania, son or daughter notwithstanding; it was coincidence most of the current lords were male. It could not be coincidence they all happened to be in Lsuana at this time.

  Three bowed to their Empress. One didn't.

  'Looks like Viga got outvoted,’ said Filipe.

  The southern lords were more traditional than the northern lords, more isolated from Bourchia and other foreign influences. They had prospered under Mikcul. Viga had, most of all. And he had resources to rival the Imperial army, just as Crethen had. If he had pulled the south behind him, Lithia would have faced a bloody and protracted war. She yet might, for all that the other southern lords made obeisance to her face.

  They dismounted. Crethen said, ‘Lord Viga, will you not acknowledge your Empress?'

  Trick approved that Crethen said it, and not Filipe.

  It didn't help. ‘I see no Empress,’ said Viga, blue eyes burning at Lithia. ‘I see a little girl with her strings pulled by a Bourchian dog.'

  'Your Majesty,’ said the female lord. ‘He does not speak for us.'

  'Zanda,’ said Filipe in Lithia's ear.

  'I know,’ she said.

  'She is not our Empress until she is crowned and that will not happen without my support,’ said Viga. ‘She is a traitor who has murdered Emperor Mikcul.'

  'Viga,’ Lithia said then. ‘You ran Mikcul's spy network, didn't you?'

&nbs
p; Lord Viga stopped dead. ‘Yes,’ he said, overturned.

  'Mikcul's most trusted lord,’ she said. ‘Didn't see me coming, did you?'

  'I could not infiltrate the Company.'

  'Because he won't hire Bourchians,’ said Filipe quietly in Bourchian. ‘And we don't let in Livanians.’ He glanced at Trick. ‘With some exceptions.'

  The other two lords had yet to speak. Now another stepped forward. ‘Yes, Lord Ghaun?’ Lithia said.

  'We welcome you, Empress. We can form council to discuss your coronation. We are all here except Dalton and Sifley.'

  'Sifley's on his way,’ said Filipe to Lithia. Sifley held the tiny province between Dalton and Crethen. ‘They know about Dalton.'

  'Dalton is dead,’ said Crethen, as Lithia faltered.

  'We had heard as much,’ said Viga. ‘Add that to your tally.'

  Lithia turned a green-eyed stare back on him in a look taken entirely from Mizzle. It made him flinch.

  The last lord stirred. He was, Trick saw at a glance, a fop, wearing russet and cream in the latest style, long loose blond hair about his shoulders, powdered and rouged beyond decorum. A second glance warned him to watch this one. He masked intelligent eyes in the white-painted face.

  'I am Lord Rissun,’ he said, with another bow and a third. ‘Have a drink with us, Empress. That solves most problems.'

  Lithia did not relent. ‘There will be no discussion regarding my coronation. The ceremony and your vows of fealty will take place as soon as Sifley arrives.’ Her gaze fixed on Viga. ‘If you do not accept that then you will leave Lsuana and resign your lordship to a successor of my choice. Expect a visit from the Imperial troops if you do not.'

  She threw a gauntlet at the feet of the most powerful southern lord and waited for him to pick it up. He said nothing. His stare dropped to the floor.

  'You are dismissed,’ she said.

  They went, walking back into the palace between a double line of Imperial soldiers, their retainers hurrying after them.

  Lithia turned to Filipe. ‘Did I do that right?'

  Trick caught the look on Crethen's face and winced. She had just slighted her northern lord and he was capable of murder.

  Filipe hadn't seen. He bowed and kissed her hand. ‘Better than I ever expected, Empress.'

  Lithia looked at Mizzle, and Mizzle nodded to her. Trick was intrigued. He had not been aware they had had any contact, and yet Lithia asked for approval from Filipe and Mizzle both. Perhaps not all Mizzle's time had been spent with Jarrett.

  He pretended not to notice. ‘Did Sifley decline to join Lithia's rebellion?'

  'I never asked him,’ said Filipe. ‘If he agreed, he was too small to help and if he declined he would have turned us in to Mikcul. Risks outweighed benefits.'

  Filipe had orchestrated the whole thing, sounding out the two most powerful northern lords, hiding Lithia from the south, planning his fight around Kitira. He had promised Dalton Lithia's hand and had to be relieved that Dalton had died, since his puppet Empress had proved she had a spine and did not always move as expected.

  Trick shivered. Had Filipe promised Crethen the same thing? Was he truly surprised when Crethen's wife turned up dead?

  He shook his head. ‘He won't feel snubbed, will he?'

  Filipe smiled. ‘Sifley? He'll feel relieved to get his invitation after the battle, not before. He'll get his dues for letting Crethen cross his land unhampered.'

  Of course. Filipe hadn't allowed Sifley in on the plot, cutting him out of the rewards of the victor but he'd circumvented insult by finding something to praise him for.

  Lithia sighed and rubbed at her neck. ‘I'm tired. I wish to dine in my room tonight.'

  'Very well, Empress,’ said Filipe. ‘You have to face the lords again some time.'

  'Yes,’ she said. ‘Mizzle, will you join me?'

  All the men went silent. Mizzle said, ‘Yes.'

  'Thank you.’ Lithia went up the steps into the palace, where servants and other officials waited for her. Her guard marched after her; Trick was glad to see it, with Mikcul's pall still about the place, and Viga's current influence.

  Filipe and Crethen stared at Mizzle wordlessly, Crethen's expression unpleasant. Then both men went after Lithia.

  'When did you get so friendly?’ asked Trick.

  'What happened?’ asked Faustus from behind the language barrier.

  'Lithia invited her to a private dinner.'

  Even Faustus had the good sense to look astonished at that.

  'I do not know,’ said Mizzle. ‘I spoke to her briefly before we left Kitira, and I have spoken to her on several occasions as we travelled here. She has asked me to teach her Bourchian.'

  Trick paused at that. So Lithia had learnt her lesson about private conversations in languages she should know. He had to suspect that wasn't all Lithia had asked Mizzle. ‘She asked you how to deal with the southern lords?'

  'She asked how I would deal with difficulty from a vassal.'

  'Did you hold me up as a shining example, Miz?’ asked Trick, just sweetly.

  'She is doing well enough but she is not following my advice,’ Mizzle said. ‘I told her to crush them.'

  Which shut his mouth.

  * * * *

  'So,’ Filipe said, when they gathered that night in his room without Lithia and Mizzle and without Crethen. ‘We have Viga off-side, and Ghaun probably.'

  'Really?’ asked Faustus.

  'You don't speak Livanian,’ said Filipe, apparently reminding himself. ‘Ghaun wanted to discuss the coronation in council.'

  'He wanted to negotiate concessions from Lithia.’ Faustus nodded. ‘But she refused so he might turn to Viga.'

  Faustus, Trick remembered again, was pious and foolish but not stupid and not naive.

  'That's right,’ said Filipe. ‘Let's count them both against. Then Zanda and I'd safely say Sifley are for us, but they're small provinces. Not much help and likely to swing if things go badly.'

  'And Crethen,’ said Trick. ‘We should just depose him. And Viga while we're at it. Getting an education, Mouse?'

  The boy nodded, sitting quietly to the side. He was easy to overlook. Trick had half a mind to let him wander into the southern lords’ discussions.

  'We can't,’ said Filipe, playing with his cup. ‘Lithia's already pushed them with her ultimatum. All of them will unite against her if she pulls down Viga and Crethen without any evidence.'

  'Not if she replaces them with cronies,’ said Trick. ‘And Dalton, too. That'll be three in her pocket and all the powerful ones.'

  Filipe paused and sighed. ‘That's assuming Lithia agrees to it—and she won't. She doesn't want to look like Mikcul.'

  Trick could not help an involuntary glance up. Lithia dined alone with Mizzle. Didn't want to seem like Mikcul but courted a DarkElf as a friend?

  'And Crethen is on our side unless he doesn't get what he wants.'

  'He wants to be consort, doesn't he?’ asked Faustus.

  'Which he's not going to get,’ Filip said. ‘I think we have to give him Dalton's lands to appease him.'

  'He'll swallow Sifley,’ said Trick. ‘And take what you won't give him.'

  'Not if we can balance him with the southern lords.'

  'Rissun is the key, isn't he?’ said Trick.

  'And we have no idea what his position is.’ Filipe shook his head.

  'Don't forget the Cult,’ said Trick. It galled him to even mention them, but it didn't mean anything, it didn't mean a thing; he could still take a knife to the throat of First Priestess Hesperus. His voice was steady as he went on. ‘If we can get them to support Lithia—'

  'They'll fall behind Viga unless we can tempt them otherwise,’ said Filipe. He had not needed reminding about the Cult.

  Trick sighed. ‘Don't give them the Company, Filipe.’ The Livanian branch of the Company was decimated. It could not survive if Filipe allowed another Dragon just to woo the Cult.

  'I wasn't planning on it,’ said the
other man, very grimly. ‘And Lithia would never give permission anyway.'

  'She's got you asking permission now,’ said Trick. ‘She's coming along.'

  They all looked up. ‘She has trouble sleeping, so she wanders in the night,’ said Filipe.

  'She'll have to break that habit or she'll get herself assassinated.’ Faustus buffed at his fingernails without concern.

  'I don't like it, but she does take her guards with her. And if an assassin came looking, she won't be in her bedroom. Unpredictability helps.’ Filipe paused. ‘And apparently it gives her plenty of time to make new friends.'

  Trick went cold thinking of innocent Lithia coming across Mizzle in the middle of the night. He had not thought that Mizzle could attract a friend.

  'What's she thinking, cultivating a DarkElf, and not even the one who killed Mikcul for her?’ Filipe must have still been annoyed that Mizzle had refused to help him.

  'She just wants another perspective,’ said Trick, trying not to sound defensive.

  'Is that the sort of perspective she should get?'

  'I think Mizzle could give her very useful advice.’ Faustus turned pompous again.

  'Useful to a DarkElf.'

  Faustus drew breath. ‘Where's Jarrett?’ asked Trick, heading that off.

  'Don't know,’ said Filipe, frowning. ‘He'll show up.'

  'Would you have invited him into this council?’ asked Trick, his voice gone low without volition.

  'I think he could be useful,’ said Filipe. ‘As a confidante of Mikcul's and having been privy to the lords’ councils.'

  Trick nodded, surprised to find himself unsure of that assessment. Jarrett had proved himself an enemy of Mikcul and still a friend to Trick. But his uneasiness intensified. He hadn't proved himself anything, not really. He had spun a flimsy excuse and asked for Mizzle.

  Trick had the strong suspicion he had been a victim of the male form of glamour. Jarrett had never warned him against it, but then, why would he?

  He stood. ‘I'm going to bed.'

  On his way to his assigned room, he realised Filipe had snared him with a human sort of glamour, entwining him into Livanian politics and Livanian lives he did not want to have to care about.

  Fortune, he was spun into too many webs. The sooner Mizzle decided to leave, the better. He would let himself be towed along by her tide, to be drowned or to be washed up on familiar shores. If the currents brought him Hesperus like they had brought him Mikcul ... well then, perhaps a second try at revenge would bring peace to his heart. If not, there was still the sword. Let Linnet shake her head at him. There was still the sword.