The Bastard King

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lanius had seen his mother exiled from the palace before. She’d come back in triumph after Arch-Hallow Bucco sent her away. Somehow, he didn’t think the same thing would happen this time. He glared at Grus. “You have your nerve, Commodore, asking me to come talk with you after what you’ve done.”

“Your Majesty, I know you’re going to be angry at me,” Grus said.

“Do you?” Lanius was just learning how to use sarcasm, which made him enjoy it all the more.

He might have been shooting arrows at a boulder, though, for all the effect he had on the naval officer. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry I sent your mother to the Maze,” Grus said. “By the gods, I am. My life would’ve been easier if we’d managed to get along. But she tried to kill me, and she came too close to doing it. What was I supposed to do, leave her here to take another stab at it?”

He sounded reasonable. He sounded sincere. And Lanius knew perfectly well that his mother had tried to kill Commodore Grus. That didn’t make him like Grus any better, even if it did mean he understood why Grus had done what he’d done. Lanius said, “Will you get rid of me now, for fear of what I might do to you one day?”

Grus’ face froze. Something in Lanius froze, too. He hadn’t imagined Grus would really dare do any such thing. Slowly, the commodore said, “I don’t want to do that, Your Majesty. I don’t want to do that at all. Everybody in Avornis cares about the dynasty.”

“But if you think I’m dangerous enough, you will.” Lanius had to force the words out through lips stiff with fear.

And Grus nodded. “If I have to, I will, yes. I don’t want your blood on my hands, but I don’t want my blood on your hands, either. I think you can understand that.”

The worst of it was, Lanius could understand it. Had he stood in Grus’ sandals, he would have thought about how best to get rid of himself. How could he have done otherwise? The King of Avornis—even if not of age, even if not trusted with the reins of government—was and always would be a menace to any mere protector simply by virtue of his office and the tradition and power that went with it.

“I think I may have found a way around the problem, though,” Grus said. “I just might have.” He eyed Lanius with what looked to the king like wry amusement; Lepturus had sent him more than a few such glances. “It keeps you breathing, too, which I hope you’ll appreciate.”

“I’ve heard ideas I like less,” Lanius answered, which made Grus chuckle. Lanius went on, “What is this way of yours?”

“I’m going to have myself crowned King of Avornis,” Grus said.

Rage ripped through Lanius. He’d never imagined he could be so furious. Having his mother exiled had frightened him as well as angered him. This was pure, raw fury. “You would dare?” he whispered in a deadly voice. “You dare speak of the dynasty in one breath, and then use the next to cast me down?”

“Who said anything about casting you down?” Grus said. “I don’t intend to do anything of the sort. You’ve got all those ancestors who wore the crown. The people are used to having somebody from your family on the throne. That’s fine with me. You’ll keep on being King of Avornis. But I’ll be King of Avornis, too.”

“That’s… very strange,” Lanius said. “I’ve never heard of anything like it. I don’t think anyone else has, either.”

“So what?” Grus said cheerfully. “The other choice is leaving you shorter by a head. If that’s what you want, I can arrange it.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

Lanius almost told him to do his worst—almost, but not quite. Just in time, he realized Grus was neither joking nor bluffing. If he said something like, I can’t live with the humiliation, he would, very shortly after that, stop living. He didn’t want to, and so shook his head.

“Good,” Grus said. “I don’t want to kill you, Your Majesty. I didn’t want to send your mother away, either, but she didn’t leave me with a whole lot of choice.”

Can I believe that? Lanius wondered. He had to believe it. Grus was letting him live. If the commodore—the commodore who was promoting himself to wear a crown—wanted him dead, dead he would be. He asked, “If we’re both going to be King of Avornis, who will rule the kingdom?”

Grus jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “I will. You can wear the crown and the fancy robes. But I’ll say who does what. I’ve heard you like to read old books and play around in the archives. Is that so?”

“Yes,” Lanius answered. “That is so.” He remembered playing with Marila in the archives, and how much he’d enjoyed that. But it wasn’t what Grus meant, and he also loved going through old documents.

“Good,” the commodore—the usurper—said again. “You can do that to your heart’s content. If you find anything interesting, you can write a book of your own. As long as you don’t jog my elbow, you can do whatever you please. If you do—but I already talked about that.”

“So you did,” Lanius said. “I suppose I ought to count myself lucky.” He’d intended that for sarcasm, too, but it came out sounding different. He knew a good deal about Avornan history. The kingdom had known its share of usurpers, including the founder of his own dynasty. They hadn’t gone out of their way to try to mollify the kings they overthrew. On the contrary— they’d gotten rid of them as fast as they could, and often as bloodily as they could.

Grus nodded now, to show he knew that, too. “Yes, Your Majesty, I suppose you should,” he replied.

Lanius had never felt the lure of great power—he didn’t want to take the throne so he could tell people what to do. He’d thought that, as King of Avornis, he was more likely to be able to do the things he wanted—like reading old books and playing around in the archives. Once he came of age, who would presume to tell him he couldn’t?

And now here was Grus, telling him he not only could but had better do that. Oh, yes, there were worse usurpations, which didn’t mean Lanius liked this one. He didn’t. But what could he do about it? He could fume quietly, or he could die. Past that, nothing he could see. And there were worse fates than losing himself in the archives.

Arch-Hallow Bucco’s beard was white as snow. Age bent his back and made him walk with the help of a cane. A cataract clouded one eye. He had to cup a hand behind his ear when someone spoke to him.

But his wits still worked. Once Grus made him understand what he wanted, the arch-hallow grinned a wide and eager grin. Grus didn’t care that that grin showed several missing teeth. He cared much more that it was there.

“A pleasure!” Bucco said. “Yes, sir, it will be a great pleasure. I’d like it even better if you kicked the miserable little gods-despised bastard off the throne altogether. I’d truly like that, I would. Thinks he’s three times as smart as everybody else, too.”

Grus wondered exactly what had passed between King Lanius and Arch-Hallow Bucco. He didn’t ask Bucco; he wanted the prelate’s help. One day, I might ask Lanius, he thought, though that would only give me his side of it. He said, “I can’t afford to get rid of him. The people like the dynasty. If I killed the boy, I’d be ‘that bloody-handed murderer’ the rest of my days.”

“Well, you may be right,” the arch-hallow admitted. “Yes, you may be right. But I don’t have to like it, and I don’t.” He leaned forward. “What did you do with that miserable whore Certhia?”

What went through Grus’ mind was, Not everybody loves the dynasty. He answered, “She’s in the Maze. Deep in the Maze. She won’t come out again, either, not unless there’s worse treason than I can imagine.”

“In Avornis, there’s always worse treason than anyone can imagine,” Bucco said. “I marvel that the Banished One tries so hard to overthrow us, I truly do. If he left us to our own devices, some of us would sell him Avornis soon enough, so long as they saw even half a chance to pay back their enemies that way.”

Grus wanted to tell Bucco he was full of nonsense and bile. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He feared the arch-hallow all too likely knew what he was talking about. Instead, Grus said, “You will crown me, then?”

“I won’t just crown you, Commodore. I’ll enjoy doing it,” Bucco replied. “Let’s pick a day, and I’ll set the crown on your head. Do you want me to do it in the palace or in the cathedral?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Grus said. “I’d like you to do it in the square in front of the palace. The more people who can crowd in, the better.”

“You’re right,” Arch-Hallow Bucco answered. “You’ll make a pretty good King of Avornis. You see how the pieces fit.”

“Let’s spread the news through the city and then hold the ceremony.”

“You do know how the pieces fit,” the arch-hallow said approvingly. “We’ll do it exactly like that. You ought to have Lanius come and be a witness, too.”

“He hates the idea,” Grus said.

“Too bad,” Bucco answered. “That isn’t what anyone will see.”

“Oh, no,” Grus agreed. “Lanius knows what he’s supposed to do, and what will happen if he doesn’t. He’s not stupid.”

“No, he’s not.” By the sour expression on Bucco’s face, he would have liked Lanius better had the young king been stupid. That would have made him easier to lead by the nose. The arch-hallow eyed Grus. “And since he isn’t stupid, and since you say he doesn’t like your stepping in front of him, he’s going to spend a good deal of his time from now on plotting against you. How do you propose to get around that?”

He does want me to get rid of Lanius. He wants it very much, Grus thought. Now he eyed Bucco. “You like twisting people this way and that so they do what you want, don’t you?” he said.

“Me, Commodore? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucco answered. Maybe he meant it; some men were curiously blind about their own character. More likely, though, he donned innocence as readily as his red ecclesiastical robes. “You may insult me if you please. It is your privilege, as the man who will be King of Avornis. But do remember, you have not answered my question.”

“How will I stop Lanius from plotting against me?” Grus echoed, and Bucco nodded. With a shrug, Grus went on, “I have some ideas about that. I’m not going to tell you what they are, because I will tell you they’re none of your concern.”

“All right. It’s your worry, not mine. The little bastard and his slutty mother discovered they couldn’t do without me,” Arch-Hallow Bucco said. “Now—when do you want the coronation?”

“As soon as you can arrange it and spread word through the city of Avornis that it’s going to happen,” Grus replied. “We do want a good-sized crowd there.”

“There’s the anniversary of the consecration of the cathedral—that’s coming up six days from now,” the arch-hallow said. “It’s not one of the major festivals on the calendar, but a lot of people do take the day off from work. They’d come to the square, or a good many of them would.”

“Perfect,” Grus said. “We’ll do it two hours after sunrise, to make sure everyone’s out of bed.”

“You may rely on me… Your Majesty,” Bucco said.

“Your… Majesty.” Grus tasted the words. After a moment, he nodded. “I’ll just have to get used to that, won’t I?”

Not being of age, King Lanius had never had true power in Avornis. He’d had influence with his mother and with Lepturus, though. With Grus he had none. The protector—the man who would make himself king—did listen to him; Grus was unfailingly polite. But Grus was also plainly a man who trusted his own judgment and no one else’s. The next suggestion of Lanius’ he took would be the first.

Grus did nothing to rob Lanius of his ceremonial role as king. Two days before the commodore was to steal a share of the title that by rights should have belonged to Lanius alone, the young king sat on the Diamond Throne to receive a party of merchants and ambassadors—with the Chernagors, the titles went hand in hand—from the folk who dwelt along the northern coast and on some few of the nearer islands in the Northern Sea.

The head of the embassy was a big, broad-shouldered man with a black beard—just beginning to be streaked with gray— that tumbled halfway down his chest. He wore his hair tied back in a neat bun at the nape of his neck. Fancy embroidery in vivid colors decorated his shirt. In place of trousers, he wore a wool kilt that showed off his knobby knees and hairy calves. His name was Yaropolk.

“Greetings to you, Your Majesty,” he said in fluent if gutturally accented Avornan. “Greetings from my sovereign, Prince Vsevolod of Nishevatz, and from all the princes of the Chernagors.”

“I greet you in return, and your prince through you,” Lanius answered. He said nothing about the other princes of the Chernagors. Yaropolk probably would have been astonished if he had. The Chernagors lived in independent city-states, and fought among themselves over trade or, sometimes, over what seemed to an outsider like nothing at all. The only time they pulled together was when outsiders threatened. Sometimes they didn’t do it then, either; several of those city-states had passed part of their history in Avornan hands.

Bowing, Yaropolk said, “You are very kind, Your Majesty, too kind to a stranger.”

“By no means,” Lanius said—this was all part of the ritual of dealing with Chernagors. “Behold—I have gifts for you and your companions.” He nodded to a servant, who came forward with a silver tray on which sat a plump leather sack for each of the men who’d come to the throne room. Yaropolk’s sack was a little plumper than the others.

“You are truly too kind, Your Majesty!” Prince Vsevolod’s ambassador cried. He hefted his sack. Lanius was sure he knew to the farthing how much was due him, and that he could tell by the weight of the sack in his hand whether he’d gotten what he was supposed to. He seemed satisfied, as well he might have. Once he’d stowed away the sack, he went on, “We are also privileged to give you a gift, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” Lanius said, as impassively as he could. But he couldn’t help leaning forward a little. The gifts Avornis gave to Chernagors followed strict and ancient custom. The gifts the Chernagors brought to the city of Avornis could be anything at all, by equally strict and ancient custom. Master traders and master mariners, the Chernagors traveled widely over the world’s oceans. They came across things no one else—no one else from lands Avornis knew, anyhow—had ever seen, and sent some of those strangenesses down to the city of Avornis to amaze and delight her kings.

Bitterness surged through Lanius. I won’t be King of Avornis much longer. But stubborn honesty made him shake his head. I won’t be sole King of Avornis much longer. Grus could easily have slain him or sent him to the Maze with his mother. The commodore hadn’t. That was something. Still, Lanius found resentment easier to cultivate than acceptance.

But resentment, too, was forgotten as a pair of Yaropolk’s henchmen carried something large and bulky—but, apparently, not too heavy—and covered by a sheet of silk up to the base of the throne. Two or three royal guardsmen started to interpose themselves between the Chernagors and Lanius. He waved them back, saying, “It’s all right.” They didn’t look as though they thought it was all right, but Lepturus, who as always stood to the left of the Diamond Throne, did not contradict the king. Muttering, the guardsmen returned to their stations.

“Behold, Your Majesty,” one of the Chernagors said, and whisked away the silk to reveal a cage with gilded bars. And in the cage were…

“You’re giving me two cats?” Lanius asked in surprise of a sort altogether different from what he’d expected.

But he realized his mistake even before Yaropolk shook his head and said, “Your Majesty, these are no ordinary cats.”

“I see,” Lanius breathed. “By the gods, Your Excellency, I see.”

At first glance, they did look like plain tabbies, one grayish brown, the other reddish. Only at first glance, though; Lanius’ error had come from speaking too soon. He stared and stared. The beasts had cat faces—indeed, cat heads—but those heads were set on their necks at an angle different from that of any cats he’d ever seen. They were more upright, more erect, not quite manlike but perhaps halfway between man and beast. And their arms—and legs, too, he noted—ended not in paws but in hands with real thumbs.

Some tiny motion in the throne room made the grayish one start. It sprang off the cage floor and swung from bar to bar and from perch to perch as nimbly as a monkey. “Have you Chernagors found some wizardry way to make cats and apes breed?” Lanius asked.

Yaropolk shook his head once more. The tip of his beard whipped back and forth. “A good question, Your Majesty, but not so,” he answered. “Our traders found ’em. There’s an island chain out in the Northern Sea—just where, you’ll understand, I’d sooner not say—where they live. They aren’t as tame as your ordinary cat, but they’re not quite wild, either. The folk who live there use ’em as hunting animals, but most don’t make real friends of ’em, the way we do with cats and dogs. Still, they won’t be dangerous to anybody if you left ’em out of the cage after a bit.”

“What do you call them?” Lanius asked, entranced by the gymnastic show the gray one was putting on. The reddish one stayed on the floor of the cage. It was, he realized, a female, and its belly bulged.

“We can’t pronounce the name the natives use,” the Chernagor said. “They speak a strange language in those islands, one that… oh, never mind. In our tongue, we say obezyana-koshka.”

“That seems strange enough to me,” Lanius remarked.

“In Avornan, it would mean monkey-cat,” Yaropolk said. “Sometimes we just say koshkobez. That would be more like”— he frowned in thought—“like moncat, maybe, though I know moncat isn’t a real word.”

“Moncat.” Lanius tasted the sound of it. “It wasn’t a real word,” he said. “I think it is now, because there’s the thing it names.”

“We’ve given you a mated pair, Your Majesty, and the female’s carrying a litter. If you’re lucky and you take care of them, you’ll be able to keep the line going,” Yaropolk told him. “You can make a pretty penny, I’d bet, selling ’em to folk who have to have the latest thing.” As an ambassador, he should have been more polite, but as a merchant, he could speak freely—and practically. “They aren’t hard to care for, not really. They eat kitchen scraps and anything they can catch. There aren’t a whole lot of squirrels on those islands, I’ll tell you that.”

“I believe it.” Lanius stared at the male beast— the male moncat, he reminded himself. It stared back out of slit-pupiled eyes yellow and shiny as a gold piece. “How soon can I let them out of their cage?” he asked.

“Why, whenever you please, Your Majesty,” Yaropolk answered. “But you’ll maybe want to be careful about where you do it. You have no idea how nimble they can be. If you want to make sure you’ll see them again once you let them out, you’ll do it in a room with narrow, narrow bars across all the windows, and with no holes in the walls.” He paused, seeming to remember something else. “Oh. And once the female has her kittens, you’ll want to find another room like that for the male. Otherwise, he’ll try to kill them.”

“I understand. Thank you for the warning.” Lanius got down from the Diamond Throne and came up to the cage for a closer look at the moncats. Again, royal bodyguards started to shield him from the Chernagors. Again, he waved them back. Again, Lepturus let him get away with it.

He held his hand just outside the bars of the cage, to give the male a chance to smell him. He would have done the same when greeting an ordinary cat he hadn’t met before. The moncat stuck the tip of its nose out through the bars, till it brushed the back of his fingers. He felt the animal’s breath stir the tiny hairs growing there. The moncat sniffed interestedly; his was a smell it hadn’t known before. And it looked at him with, he thought, more attention than a common cat would have paid. After a moment’s thought, he decided that made sense. An animal that spent most of its time in trees would have to be able to see where it was going as well as sniff out prey.

Reaching into the cage with a forefinger, Lanius cautiously scratched the moncat behind the ears. “Careful, Your Majesty,” Yaropolk warned. “It may bite. Like I said, it’s not as tame as your everyday cat.”

“I know,” Lanius answered. “Even an everyday cat may bite. I don’t think the moncat’s going to, though.”

Sure enough, the animal’s eyes slid half shut—it enjoyed the attention. After a moment, it started to purr. The sound wasn’t quite the same as an ordinary cat’s purr; it was a little deeper, a little raspier. But a purr it unmistakably was. Lanius smiled. Yaropolk grinned. So did a couple of the guardsmen close enough to hear the contented buzz.

But then the moncat did something no common cat would have—something no common cat could have—done. It reached up with its left front foot—no, its left hand—and wrapped its fingers and thumb around Lanius’ forefinger. The grip was gentle; the moncat’s flesh was just a tiny bit warmer than his own. Its claws weren’t the curved needles an ordinary cat would have had. They were still sharp at the tips, but broader than a regular cat’s claws—halfway between claws and nails, in fact. The beast didn’t try to scratch with them; they were simply there.

From behind Lanius, Lepturus said, “Looks like it likes you, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, it does seem so,” Yaropolk agreed. “Good. I am glad.” He bowed.

Even with that small, warm, furry hand wrapped around his index finger, Lanius went on stroking the moncat. Its purr, if anything, got louder. “It does like me,” he said, wonder in his voice. He wasn’t used to being liked. He especially wasn’t used to being liked for himself, for his own sake, and not for the sake of whatever he might do for whoever was talking to him at the moment. That sort of liking was the curse of kings. But the moncat couldn’t know anything about it. It was only a beast, but it was sincere.

Grus won’t mind if I breed moncats, Lanius thought. He won’t mind at all. He’ll think it’ll keep me out of mischief. He tried to summon up scorn for the commodore who was promoting himself to a higher rank than any naval officer had ever enjoyed in all the history of Avornis. He also tried to summon up scorn for the idea of spending a lot of time breeding moncats. With the moncat’s hand on his, he had more trouble finding that scorn than he’d expected he would.

When the time came to be crowned King of Avornis, Grus had expected to be nervous. He’d expected to be, but found he wasn’t. He’d been nervous going into rights against the Menteshe and the Thervings. He’d had reason to be nervous, too. If anything went wrong in a fight, he wouldn’t have the chance to make amends—he’d be dead or maimed.

If anything went wrong at his coronation… He shook his head. The most that was likely to happen was that some people might laugh at him. He knew he could live through that. His nerves stayed calm.

Estrilda, on the other hand, did get nervous. “What if Lanius betrays us?” she said a few minutes before the ceremony was set to begin. “What if Bucco betrays us? What if—”

“If Lanius betrays us, we make him sorry for it, and Bucco still puts the crown on my head,” Grus told his wife. “The arch-hallow won’t betray us, because he’s hated Lanius since before the little know-it-all was born, and I haven’t done anything to make him angry.”

“What will you do if he gives you trouble?” Estrilda asked.

“When Bucco gave Mergus trouble, Avornis had itself a new arch-hallow the very next day,” Grus answered. “I can do the same thing Mergus did, and Bucco has to know it. Everything will be fine. You look beautiful.”

“Oh, foosh.” Estrilda did her best to wave away the praise. Grus had distracted her, though, as he’d hoped he would. He hadn’t even been lying. The glittering royal robes the palace servants had found for Estrilda played up her coloring and, with their jewels and thread of precious metal, made her look like a noblewoman born.

What struck Grus about the royal robes was how heavy they were. He might almost have had on a shirt of mail, instead. He wondered if they made him look like a king. He suspected it would have taken more than robes to pull off that trick. On the other hand, anyone who wore royal robes would likely find himself obeyed, at least for a while. And Grus did have practice at giving orders.

He glanced over to his son, whose robe was almost as gaudy as his own. Ortalis looked handsome as a prince—which suited Grus fine, for Ortalis was about to become one. Maybe rank and being able to get whatever he wanted as soon as he wanted it would cure the nasty streak in him. Grus hoped something would.

He wished his own father could have seen this ceremony. Crex’s father had been a peasant. Crex’s son was about to become King of Avornis. Grus smiled. You couldn’t come up in the world much more than that, or much faster, either.

Grus smiled again, this time at his daughter. Sosia looked like a princess from a fairy tale. Grus thought she would have even without her robes, but knew he was prejudiced. Still, no one could deny she’d done a lot of growing up the past couple of years.

“Are we ready? Is it time?” Estrilda asked.

A glance at the hourglass told Grus they still had a quarter of an hour to wait. A glance at his wife told him he would get in trouble if he told her to look at the glass. Even if he was about to be crowned, that didn’t make him sole ruler in his own family. All he said was, “Not quite yet, dear.”

As the sand in the glass ran toward the end, a servant came through the door and said, “This way, please, everyone.” Though he said please, he assumed he would be obeyed—and he was right. Grus and his wife and children followed the servant as meekly as though he ruled Avornis.

For the past several days, the sounds of hammering had filled the square in front of the royal palace. Now Avornans filled the square—men and women, some children beside them, others on their shoulders to see better. Marines and royal bodyguards kept the throng away from the platform and away from the roll of carpet that led to it from the palace gate. Grus and his family strode along the carpet and up the hastily knocked-together stairs that took them up onto the platform.

Arch-Hallow Bucco and King Lanius already waited there. When the crowd saw Grus, they went from buzzing interestedly to cheering. Grus waved to them. As he waved, he stole a glance at Lanius. The young king looked disappointed to hear those cheers. He’d probably hoped people would shout “Robber!” and “Usurper!” at Grus and ruin the coronation. If he had a few more years and a little more craft, he would have made sure there were people out there shouting “Robber!” and “Usurper!”

Grus thought. Not quite yet, though, and gods be praised for that.

Bucco raised his hands in a gesture that both offered the crowd a blessing and asked for silence. Little by little, people quieted down. “Avornis finds itself in danger,” the arch-hallow said. “The barbarous Thervings have ravaged our land. They have even dared to lay siege to the city of Avornis itself. In the south, the Menteshe are an ever-present danger, and the shadow of the Banished One hangs over their every move. In times like these, we need a man of courage and might to lead the kingdom, and King Lanius is only a child.”

Lanius stirred angrily at that. He had some reason to stir; he wasn’t far from coming into his majority. But Bucco was putting the best face on things he could. He went on, “No one did more to make King Dagipert leave the city of Avornis and go back to Thervingia than Commodore Grus, commander of our river-galley fleet. Who, then, is better suited to lead Avornis in years to come than he?”

More cheers rose. Grus had made sure the audience held people who would applaud at the right time. Lanius wouldn’t have thought of that. Arch-Hallow Bucco gestured to the young king. Lanius stepped forward, almost to the edge of the platform. “People of Avornis!” he called. “People of Avornis, hear me!”

Grus tensed. If Lanius had the nerve, this was the moment when he might try to incite the mob against Grus. If he called for folk to rise against the man stealing his throne… Grus’ hand went to the hilt of his sword. He may pull me down if he tries that, but he won’t live to enjoy it.

“People of Avornis,” Lanius continued, “this is a time when we truly do need a strong king, a king who is tried in war. I am willing—I am pleased—to share my crown with Commodore Grus.”

That was, word for word, what he was supposed to say. Grus let out a sigh of relief. Lanius gave him a cold nod as he came forward. The young king might have said he was pleased to share the crown, but he didn’t mean it. Grus shrugged. What Lanius had meant didn’t matter. The crowd out there was cheering—cheering loud enough to make Grus want to raise his hands to his ears. That mattered.

I suppose I ought to thank the Chernagors for bringing him those funny cats, too, Grus thought. He’s just young enough to think they’re as interesting as girls. Another couple of years, and nothing but a really beautiful concubine would have distracted him so well.

A servant walked up to Arch-Hallow Bucco. The man carried on a velvet cushion a crown identical to the one Lanius wore. The arch-hallow lifted the crown from the cushion and held it high so the people packing the square could see it. As though on cue, the sun came out from behind a cloud and sparkled from the gold and rubies and emeralds and sapphires. “Ahhh!” said the men and women who’d come to see Grus made a king.

Bucco quickly lowered the crown. He motioned for Grus to bend his head. Grus obeyed. This is the last time I have to obey anyone, went through his mind. If that wasn’t a heady notion, he didn’t know what would be. The arch-hallow put the crown on his head. As Bucco set it there, he called out, “It is accomplished!” in a great voice.

Grus straightened. In straightening, he discovered why Arch-Hallow Bucco had wasted no time lowering the crown. It was even heavier than he’d thought it would be—far heavier than the iron helmets he’d worn when he fought. All they’d had to do was keep some savage from smashing in his head. The crown had to look impressive instead. It had to, and it did.

“Hurrah for King Grus!” “Long live King Grus!” “King Grus! King Grus! King Grus!” The shouts washed over Grus like the tide. He didn’t have to worry much about the tide, not serving on river galleys as he’d always done. He didn’t have to worry about it, but he knew what it did.

He raised his hands above his head, asking for quiet in the same way as Arch-Hallow Bucco had. He needed longer to get quiet than Bucco had. He hoped that was a good sign.

“People of Avornis!” he called, pitching his voice to carry, as he would have on the deck of a river galley during a storm. “People of Avornis, I never expected—I never intended—to be set above you.” That was true, or had been true till he’d been summoned to defend the capital from Dagipert and the Thervings. By the way people applauded when he said it, they believed him, too.

He went on, “We have many enemies. I’ll do everything I can to hold back the ones outside the kingdom. And the nobles inside the kingdom who want to take what isn’t theirs also had better look out. They are no friends of Avornis.”

The cheers he got then almost knocked him off the platform. He smiled a little. He’d hoped and thought ordinary people resented greedy nobles like Corvus and Corax. It was good to see he’d been right.

To his surprise, he saw King Lanius clapping his hands, too. Isn’t that interesting? Grus thought. I wonder what Lanius has against the nobility.

Meanwhile, though, he had to finish talking to the crowd. “With your help—with the help of the gods—Avornis will be a great kingdom again,” he told them. “We can be. We aren’t far from it, and you must know that. As long as we pull together and don’t fight among ourselves, we have a chance. The Banished One wouldn’t try so hard to lay us low if he weren’t afraid of us.”

Of course, the Banished One might have wanted to lay Avornis low for no more reason than that it stood in the way of his Menteshe. Having been cast down from the heavens, he thought the material world was his by right— by divine right, Grus thought, and shivered a little. The Banished One had never stopped being offended that any mere mortals wanted to keep on ruling themselves instead of letting him take them in his hands and do with them what he would. Grus looked toward the south. Too bad, was what went through his mind.

“At this time, I’d like to recognize Alca the witch, and to reward her with the post of chief sorcerous aide to the throne,” Grus said. “Alca, step forward!” Alca ascended to the platform, waved, and went down again. Her husband put his arm around her. Pride filled his face. Grus continued, “Alca saved me from a wizardly attack, and deserves promotion. All those who serve me well will get what they earn. Those who don’t will get what they earn, too.”

Again, applause filled the square. Grus had left the impression the Banished One, not Queen Certhia, had launched that attack against him. He didn’t want to humiliate Lanius in public, not unless he had to. Lanius nodded to him, ever so slightly. He recognized what Grus had said, and what he hadn’t. Unless Grus mistook his expression, he was grateful for what hadn’t been said. Maybe we can work together, Grus thought. Maybe.