Conor had been nodding along as Roverge and Raspail argued, his gray eyes sleepy beneath the tumble of his black hair. Now he said, “The tithe on colored paper will be split between your two Houses, evenly. Understood? Good. What is the next matter at hand?”
“Bandits,” said Alonse Esteve, leaning forward. He was an odd one. The Esteve Charter was horses, and Alonse, though in his fifties, had no wife, nor any heirs to inherit his Charter. He seemed far happier with horses than people and was usually in Valderan, where the best horseflesh was bred. “We must discuss the problem at the Narrow Pass. It affects us all.”
It was as if he had tossed a lit match into kindling. A loud squabble blazed up as the nobles fell to arguing. It seemed that several caravans had been attacked by teams of well-coordinated bandits while approaching the Narrow Pass that connected Sarthe to Castellane; it was a concern, as there was no other land route into the city, but no one was agreed on a solution.
“If you ask me,” said Polidor Sardou, whose Charter was glass, “the thing to do is march the Arrow Squadron into Sarthe. Put them on the back foot. We need to demonstrate our strength, show them we can’t be trifled with.”
“That risks war with Sarthe,” said Falconet languidly. “The Black Guard would be on us like flies.”
“No one wants war,” said Lady Alleyne, watching Conor out of the corner of her eye. “A stupid and unprofitable way to settle disputes.”
“Liorada, that’s simply not true,” said Montfaucon. “War can be very profitable indeed.”
“Perhaps,” said Raspail, “we should consider strengthening our alliance with Sarthe. This state of uneasy détente serves no one, really.”
“I had heard tell,” Falconet said, “of a possible alliance with Sarthe.”
All eyes turned to Conor. He sat motionless in his black velvet, his eyes glittering like the rings on his fingers. The light from the oculus cast his face in shadow. It was Mayesh who spoke.
“The matter of the Prince’s marriage,” he said, “has not progressed to a place at which you need worry yourself about alliances, Falconet. We can all agree, I think, that it is an area in which our Prince should have time to apply due consideration.”
This was not, Kel knew, what Mayesh really thought. He wanted to advise Conor and for Conor to take that advice—and sooner rather than later. But his loyalty was to House Aurelian, not the Charter Families. He would place his words between them and Conor, just as Kel placed his body between Conor and danger.
“I recall,” said Roverge, “that when this matter arose for King Markus, he placed it before us to hear our voices. There is no pact more binding than a marriage, and pacts between Castellane and foreign powers are a Council matter.”
“Are they?” Conor murmured. “Are you all planning on joining me on my wedding night? We shall have to make a list of names, that I might know how many bottles of wine to provide.”
Roverge smiled stiffly. “You are young, dear Prince. It is part of your undeniable charm. But when a royal weds, whole nations are joined in the bedchamber.”
“How scandalously put,” said Falconet.
Cazalet said, “When Markus came to us then, matters with Marakand were different. We were at odds. Now, of course, there is harmony between us.”
“But,” said Conor, “not all disputes can be solved with marriage. I can only be married once, for one thing.”
Kel wished he could lay a hand on Conor’s shoulder. He could see that Conor’s fingers were curling in on themselves, a nervous habit. He was letting the Council get under his skin. If he snapped, Lilibet would declare that he had failed to show the Council who was in control.
“Indeed,” Kel said, striving for a light tone. “This isn’t Nyenschantz.”
There was a buzz of laughter; the King of Nyenschantz had been caught promising his daughter’s hand in marriage to several countries at once, and been forced to pay out multiple dowries when the deception was uncovered.
“I know the Princess of Sarthe, Aimada,” Falconet said. “She’s beautiful, clever, accomplished—”
Lady Alleyne sat up straight. “Nonsense,” she said. “We cannot treat our Prince so! Marry him off to some awful woman from Sarthe? I think not.”
“Joss, your sister is married to a Sarthian duke,” said Sardou crossly. “You are not objective in this matter. An alliance with Sarthe would likely benefit your family.”
Joss smiled, innocence personified. “That hadn’t crossed my mind, Polidor. I was thinking of Castellane. Our constant state of unease with Sarthe drains the city coffers, does it not, Cazalet?”
“What about Valderan?” interrupted Esteve. “An alliance with Valderan could be valuable indeed.”
“Think of the horses,” said Falconet, dry as salt. “So many horses.”
Esteve glared.
“Falconet may not be objective,” said Roverge, “but Sarthe is our closest neighbor, and there is something to be said for solving the bandit problem. I lost a caravan’s worth of indigo powder last month.”
Rolant Cazalet took a gold snuffbox from his pocket. “What about Malgasi?” he said, pinching up some of the mixture of powdered leaves and herbs he kept inside. One could buy such stuff at the Ashkari stalls in the city market. It was a bit of small magic—like posy-drops, which the younger nobles dripped into their eyes to change the shape of their pupils to stars, hearts, or leaves. “Their wealth, put at our disposal, could expand our Treasury, and the footprint of our trade—”
“My sources at the Malgasi Court tell me Queen Iren may be leaving the throne soon,” said Montfaucon.
“Odd,” said Mayesh. “She has only in this past decade consolidated her power. One does not usually willingly take leave of a position of power.”
“Perhaps she is tired of being queen,” said Antonetta. “Perhaps she wishes to take up a hobby.”
Lady Alleyne looked pained. “Antonetta, you know nothing of power or politics. Keep your mouth shut and your ears open, my girl.”
Kel shot Antonetta a glare; he couldn’t help it. Why did she put so much effort into seeming ridiculous in public? She had had better and clearer thoughts about politics and trade at twelve, and he seemed the only one to realize that she could not possibly have lost all her sense in the intervening years.
She simply smiled back at him, as she had the night before: a sweet, charming, slightly befuddled smile. It warmed him—though perhaps that was only the annoyance sweeping through his veins.
“It is not Iren’s choice to leave the throne. They say she is dying,” said Montfaucon. “Which means Princess Elsabet will soon ascend to the throne. We would not need to wait long to have the gold of Malgasi at our disposal.”
“How calculating, Lupin,” Lady Alleyne murmured. “And how it would delight Lilibet, having another queen here at Marivent. You have thought of everything.”
“I hear their Court is chaotic and the Belmany rule not terribly popular,” said Raspail. “Mayesh, what do your Ashkari connections tell you? Any news from Favár?”